active 1835-1883 Thomas Faughnan

MALTESE—DEPARTURE—A CAPTAIN COMMITS SUICIDE—THE FUNERAL—SMALL-POX—RETURN—RESUMED THE VOYAGE—GRECIAN ARCHES—DARDANELLES—GALLIPOLI—TURKISH SENTRIES—CONSTANTINOPLE—TURKISH LADIES—THE BOSPHORUS—VOYAGE ACROSS THE EUXINE—ARRIVAL.

Soon after our arrival in the harbour, a coal-barge came along side, and about fifty Maltese commenced to coal our ship; they carried the coal on their heads in round, wicker baskets; passed each other on the gangway after depositing their load in the ship's bunker. The coaling lasted about two hours, during which time the officers and men were amused by divers who came along in little boats; a boy managing the boat, while the diver was left free to exercise his strange employment. His dress consisted of a light pair of drawers short at both ends, and a loose skirt. Bringing his little craft alongside, where we were looking over the railing, and divesting himself of his upper garments, he commenced in a supplicating tone of broken English: "sixpence, me dive for sixpence, me get him quick; me get him sure." Some of the officers tossed a sixpence into the water where it was very deep, supposing he was going to the bottom for it; but experience taught him an easier mode of catching it. Watching it with the eye of a hawk he saw it strike the water, and, poising himself, he sprung head first in the sea; the water was so clear we could follow him with our eyes. Down he went like an arrow, outstripping the sixpence in the race for the bottom; before it had sunk twelve feet he had his hands under it in the form of a bowl, the shining piece dropping into his hands; he then clapped it between his teeth, rose to the surface, climbed into his boat and exhibited the prize with the air of a conqueror. This was repeated several times, and with unerring certainty he caught the prize every time. He then asked for some one to throw a sixpence the other side of the ship, which was done, when he sprang under the ship and brought it up in his teeth on the other side. The Maltese had finished coaling at twelve, when our steamer moved slowly from her buoy; dense masses of people lined the batteries, and yet larger crowds of soldiers in the forts St. Angelo and St. Elmo cheered as our steamer moved along, the cheers from the fort being taken up by the troops on board, as well as the sailors and marines in the harbour, and joyously responded to by our troops who assembled on the deck to give our last hurrah for the East. The Town of Valetta with its strong forts, batteries, terraces, domes and houses grew smaller by degrees as the gallant "Tamar" ploughed her onward course through the blue waters of the Mediterranean, the island looking like a little blue cloud in the distance, gradually fading away. We have the trackless expanse around us; in the distance Mount Etna looms up in the north-west. The ship was making rapid progress through the waters—the captain says, "if this breeze lasts, we will reach Constantinople on the 8th," but our expectations were frustrated; "man proposes, but God disposes," which we found to be true; for on Saturday, at 8 a.m., a very melancholy occurrence happened which threw a deep gloom over all the troops on board; the captain commanding the detachment Royal Artillery had cut his throat in his cabin; no person could ever find out what was the cause which led him to commit this dreadful act.

How deeply touching is a burial at sea! replete with reflection, striking and sublime, as should always be the spectacle of a funeral,—the tree falling as it must rise again, with no leaves nor flowers of repentance or prayer, or office to alter its final doom, ever to bloom again on that cut down stem,—far more deeply does the service and the sights and the sounds of a funeral on the ocean always move one. The clouds had cleared and it was intensely hot; the funeral took place at two o'clock; we saw the body sewed up in a hammock with a round shot at its feet, and borne by the men of his battery from his cabin and laid upon the deck. We had no clergyman on board, therefore the painful duty of reading the service devolved upon the captain of the ship, which could not have been performed by a clergyman. As he began to read, not a sound, not a breath broke the solemn silence; nothing but the noise of the rolling swells against the smooth side of the ship as I stood close to the gangway while the service was read, in deep thought, and gazing on the bright and glorious shining sea, now nearly calm, looking so intensely sunny and blue; it seemed to some a mocking at the king of terrors, whose victim was about to be committed to its keeping. To me it looked like the gemmed and crystal gate of that heaven through which the Son of God had promised the faithful Christian who believes and trusts in Him to wing its happy way, there to learn many a marvel that he had striven on earth to trace and explore.

Earnestly and solemnly he read, and, when he uttered the last words, the sailors raised the body to the edge of the gangway and let it slide, feet foremost, into the sea "and so we commit his body to the deep." You who think it a solemn thing to hear the bell of some country church at home echoing through the rich woods or flowery valleys, telling of the death of some one who will never return home again, cannot form any idea of the awe which strikes into the heart at sea. I do not think there were many dry eyes among the officers and men of his battery, as they saw the body splash into the deep sea and sink straight down, with the heavy round shot at his feet. After this painful event the doctor reported two cases of small-pox, which had broken out amongst the troops, and immediately the captain and officers held a council to know what course they would pursue. It was decided to return to Malta, and put the sick men into hospital there, and prevent taking the infectious disease out to the Crimea amongst the troops. The ship was headed for Malta where we arrived at 6 p.m. next day; as we entered the harbour unexpectedly, from one of the upper forts, at the end of the harbour, there came a flash, followed by a loud report, which was echoed back and forward against the rocks and buildings, till the roaring sound at last died away, and the wreath of white smoke slowly ascended into the sky. It was the evening gun, which is fired at sun-down. After handing over the two patients to the proper authorities we again steamed out of harbour. There were crowds of people again assembled along the batteries to witness the departure of our noble ship, with the living cargo of redcoats on board, of course wondering what caused our return. As we got out to sea, a breeze sprung up on our larboard quarter, when all sails were set, and soon the island faded again away into the distance, and once more our ship was going through the waters at 15 knots, under the influence of wind and steam; next day at six p.m., we had run 240 miles in 24 hours. Sunday, at ten a.m., parade for divine service, which was read by the captain of the ship; at sun-down the wind wheeled round right in our teeth, which obliged us to take in all sail. The men were paraded at ten a.m., next day, and between various duties, and the sharp appetites brought on by the sea air, we managed to get over the time very pleasantly. The band played on the quarter deck in the afternoons, when the weather permitted; towards evening the wind veered round on our starboard bow, and the boatswain piped all hands to make sail, but we were doomed ere long to experience a change of weather, for the sun went down in a clear but stormy sky, the wind piping, snoring, and howling through the blocks and rigging, the waves thundering against our starboard, the ship had to struggle with a south-easterly gale of such fury, that it reminded me of a Levanter, which the Mediterreanean is famous for; at daylight the land was made, a heavy cloud-like line just perceptible. It was the Morea, and the men rushed on deck to see the land. As we ran up, the snow-covered mountain peaks with cold, rocky, barren edges, and villages of white houses dotting the declivity towards the sea, became to us perfectly distinct.

At 8 a.m. we passed Cape Matapan; although the old reputation of this cape was not sustained by our destruction, still the sea showed every inclination to be troublesome, the wind kept rising every moment. At ten a.m. we were passing between the Morea and Cerigo; we had a proof that the Greeks were nearly right about the weather. Even bolder sailors than the ancients fear the heavy squalls off those snowy headlands, which gave us but a poor idea of sunny Greece.

The ancient Greeks always considered a voyage round Capes Matapan and St. Angelo fraught with great danger. As we rounded the angle of the cape the wind rushed at us with much fury; we saw the sea rushing with crests of white foam right on our starboard bow. Its violence was terrific, the sea was rolling in wondrous waves towards the ship; she behaved nobly and went over them with the greatest ease. The gusts came down furiously between the little islands, which we could not make out or did not know the names. The men bore up well against this furious storm, although they were all sea-sick but never absent when the grog bugle sounded at twelve o'clock.

The night came upon us and the ship labouring on, dashing the sea into white spray in the darkness. At day light next morning the sight was most discouraging, the clouds were black and low, the sea white and high, and between them on the horizon was a mass of a broken character so that one could not be known from the other. We passed Milo at 9 p.m., and the gale increased; afterwards at 10 a.m., when the wind changed one point aft and the ship rolled very much, the deck was inclined to so sharp an angle that we could only hold on by a tight grip of the stays and ropes. The sea breaking over the ship swept several of the horse stalls loose about the deck, and the poor animals lay helpless against the bulwarks. About twelve o'clock the wind went down and the sun burst forth, sending his golden warm rays through the clouds, when the artillery men picked up their horses and put everything in its place again. We passed the Greek coast trending away to the left, showing in rugged masses of mountains capped by snowy peaks, and occasionally some good sized towns were visible on the dark brown hill side, with several windmills along the beach. With some exceptions, the isles of Greece rather disappoint the lovers of the picturesque; seen from the sea they are more or less bold and barren, abounding with sterile rocks almost entirely devoid of wood, except a stunted olive tree here and there, and clothed with a kind of reddish-brown grass. The Candian mountains are perhaps the most striking features which we encountered in our progress through what the sailors call "the arches," As we swept through the "Thermian Passage," accompanied in our course by several ancient-looking craft with little white sails stretching outwards, resembling the wings of Icarus, and others of no less ancient model, with lofty prow and solitary square rigged mast. On the left lay the Gulf of Athens, on our right rose the snowy heights of Mount Ida, 5,400 feet above the level of the sea, to the north the lofty Lemnos. At three p.m. we passed the castles of the Dardanelles and the Hellespont; we were not stopped nor fired at as in days of yore. As we passed Gallipoli, about seven p.m., we could see a collection of red-roofed houses, with tall minarets rising up amongst them. From the entrance of the Dardanelles to Gallipoli the straits are very narrow, not more than a quarter of a mile in some places. We ran along close to the bank on the European side; its breadth opposite the town of Gallipoli is about four miles, and it expands towards the Sea of Marmora. As the ship ran along the banks we could see large herds of goats and small black sheep feeding on the high rocks along the edge of the river. Night was closing on us and, as we passed the numerous forts on the European side the sentries yelled out strange challenges and burned blue lights, and blue lights answered from our ship in return, so that it looked to us a strange spectacle. The lights were put out and our eyes are as blind as owls in day light, but our eyes soon recover, the stars at last begin to twinkle, and we see a little around us. All night we were crossing the Sea of Marmora with a strong current against us.

BANKS OF THE DARDANELLES.