In one of Edgar Poe’s stories there is an account of a crew clinging to the bottom of their capsized vessel, and watching a ship approach them. She comes yawing and steering very wildly, but there are people aboard, and the poor sailors are full of hope; until on a sudden an insufferable smell is borne to them by the wind, and they discover that the figures lolling upon the ship’s sides are putrifying corpses.

This tale of horror as well as of imagination came into my head some time ago, when I read the evidence that had been tendered in St. George’s Hall, Liverpool, by a certain pier-manager and coxswain of the lifeboat belonging to a north-western town. He said that at about half-past five in the morning he was roused out by a man who told him that there was a vessel drifting ashore. He hurried down to the beach, and saw a barque of between 300 and 400 tons a short distance off under lower topsails. There was a fresh breeze from the westward. He watched the vessel a few minutes, and perceived that she would sometimes fall off so as to bring the breeze on her quarter, and then round close to the wind, like Poe’s dreadful ship, and that she was coming ashore as fast as ever she could drive. The lifeboat was launched when this strangely-behaved barque was within a hundred and fifty fathoms of the beach, and on the boat getting alongside, a strong smell of rum and water was found to pervade the atmosphere. A man got on to the rail and dropped into the boat, and the coxswain said “he seemed stupefied, took no notice of anything, and did not speak.” This was the skipper. The rest of the crew tumbled into the lifeboat and were conveyed ashore, while the barque took the ground and became a total wreck, nothing being saved but some sails and a few stores.

Such a very unusual circumstance as that of a well-found barque sailing ashore, as one might put it, of her own will, was sure to have a queer story behind it. And assuredly the story is a queer one, making one of the most disgraceful narratives to be found in the modern marine annals. It shall be told by a specimen of one of those plain, honest, English seamen who captains say are no longer to be found, and whose extinction, they declare, obliges them to ship “Dutchmen.” I will not give this excellent man his name, glad as I should be to do so, for the punishment inflicted on the captain and mate by the court that inquired into their conduct would render a large public identification a needless supplementary penalty. The certificate of competency held by the captain has been cancelled, but to the mate there has been granted a twelve months’ chance of reformation, and this alone should explain the reason for suppressing all names.

“The barque was a vessel of 340 tons, and we had a crew of ten men, not counting the captain and mate. We were bound for Quebec, which, I reckon, should make a ship’s course about west by south; but on this, as you’ll take note presently, all mariners don’t seem to be agreed. The whole of the crew, saving me and another whose name shall be Bill, were drunk when the barque left Liverpool. Speaking of the fo’ksle, I don’t mean to say there’s anything unusual in this. Drink’s grown with legislation. In old times, when there was less law, there was less lush. It’s a teetotal age, this; nothing but water going in vessels, and the consequence is that men newly shipped, knowing that there’ll be no grog betwixt this and the next port, go in for a bout of drinking to serve them, as it might be, for the whole voyage. See ’em come aboard, sprawling and roaring, too sick to stand, rolling below, and leaving the ship to sail away with no one but the idlers—and them drunk, too, maybe—to do her work for twenty-four hours or longer. If I was an owner my ship shouldn’t be a teetotaler. Every day, at noon, there should be a can of rum on the capstan for the men—a tot apiece; but I’d make this rule, that any man as came aboard in liquor should have no grog served out to him for the rest of the voyage. That would stop the drunkenness ships carry away from the ports, and all the dangers which a drunken crew brings on a vessel that’s got to grope her way down rivers and along channels full of peril.

“Well, there was ten of us, and eight were drunk. I’m speaking of forrards; I’ll come aft presently. I never saw men worse in liquor. You remember them Scotchmen that used to stand at tobacconists’ doors, taking a pinch of snuff?—dummies they were, you’ll recall. Well, think of giving one of ’em a shove, and seeing him fall. If ye can fix such an object in your imagination you’ll comprehend the sort of helplessness of my eight shipmates. They lay in the fo’ksle as lifeless as bits of timber; and this being the condition of the barque, we were towed out with a pilot aboard, and then, when abreast of the Nor’-west Lightship, were left to shift for ourselves. The mate was aft, me at the wheel, and Bill forward. There was not an inch of canvas on our vessel, and no one on deck excepting those I’ve mentioned. Whilst we were towing, the mate came up to have a look at the compass now and again, and then I noticed that if he wasn’t downright slewed he didn’t want very many more nips to settle his business. He goes lurching along till he comes abreast of the main rigging, and here he lays hold and sings out, ‘All hands make sail. Tumble up, my lively hearties! Bear a hand with your hair oil and your silk stockings, my sweet and noble fellows!’

“But nobody took any notice except Bill, who sings out, ‘There’s no tumbling up aboard this galliant vessel, sir—leastways, forrards; there’s naught but tumbling down.’ At which the mate bursts into a loud laugh, swaying upon the rope he had hold of as though he meant to swig off on it. Then, looking up and around, he sings out—

“‘This ain’t a steamer. The sails must be loosed and the yards hoisted, bully, if the Liverpool gells are ever to clap eyes on us brave mariners again; so jump below among them dreadful drunkards and rout ’em out. Rout ’em out, do you hear?’

“Well, Bill did as he was told, and after a bit he managed to shove two or three of the crew through the scuttle on to the deck. They stood blinkin’ in the light like owls, rolling up against one another with their hair over their faces, and their clothes looking as if they had been put on upside down.

“‘Now, then! now, then!’ sings out the mate, who couldn’t keep his legs without holding on; ‘what’s the meaning of this here dissipation? There’s no drink allowed aboard this tidy little ship. There’s nothing but the teetotal lay to be found in this handsome hooker. Milk and water, my bully sailor lads! that’s the tap if ever ye want to end as philosophers. Loose the fore-topmast staysail. Loose the spanker. Get the main-topmast staysail on her. Lay out, some one, and loose the inner jib.’ And he rattled order after order as though he’d got a ship’s company of fifty men to do his bidding.

“How the drunken fellows scraped through the job I’m sure I don’t know. It was a bad look-out for us two sober men, but for the life of me I couldn’t help laughing to watch the sailors Bill had managed to shove on deck go aloft. Talk of hanging on with your eyelids! Again and again I expected to see ’em all drop overboard; but I suppose their instincts for holding on were there, though their senses were gone, and the same mental henergy it was, no doubt, as enabled them to get the gaskets adrift and loose the lower topsails. When those sails were sheeted home—the jib, staysails, and spanker being already set—the drunken men refused to do any more work; they rolled over to the scuttle and disappeared, the mate looking on, but too intoxicated to act. The skipper all this while never showed himself. I asked the mate what course I was to steer.

“‘Course?’ said he; ‘why, keep the vessel’s head followin’ the jibboom, can’t ye?’

“‘Easy enough,’ says I; ‘but where’s the jibboom a-going?’

“‘No impudence!’ he cries out. ‘Smother me if I know what the British sailor’s a-coming to. It’s all drink and jaw nowadays. What’s become of all the old, ’spectable, sober seamen?—tell me that, you terrapin.’

“There was no use arguing with a man who couldn’t stand without holding on. I says, ‘I’m not going to steer this barque all day—’specially as we seem bound to nowheres. My trick was up and out a long spell since.’

“‘And d’ye think,’ says he, ‘the vessel don’t know her way without you? Hook it forrard, afore I skin yer.’

“I let go the wheel and walked forward. I looked behind me as I went, making sure that he’d take my place. But the deuce a bit. He was leaning against the rail, and shook his fist at me when I turned my head, and there was the barque without any one steering her, her fore and aft canvas full, but her topsails aback, and her whole company, saving two, so drunk as to be incapable. It was a good job that old Drainings was not so drunk as the others, otherwise we should have been obliged to light the galley fire and get ourselves supper. We were not disposed to take this job upon ourselves, so we hauled him on deck and gave him several buckets of water, which appeared to wash some of the fumes out of his intellects, and he then turned to—in a very staggering fashion, sartinly—and got us some tea, being scared by our threats to drown him out of hand if he didn’t tend to our wants.

“Me and my mate hung about the deck forrard watching to see if the skipper showed himself, but he never appeared, which, taken along with the condition of the mate, made us suppose he was drunk too; but we couldn’t have swore to this without getting a sight of him first. I says to Bill, ‘Here’s a pretty look-out. What’s to be done? No one at the wheel; no one in charge; everybody drunk, and the night coming along.’

“‘There’s nothing to be done,’ answers Bill, ‘except to turn in and take our chance. It won’t do for us to take command of the barque. If there’s to be a mess, let it find the skipper boss, not us. I don’t want no magistrate’s job, for one. We’re but common sailors, and common sailors have but a poor chance now when it comes to law, and the fight’s between them and the captain.’

“This was a middlin’ sensible view; but still, life’s life, and I couldn’t quite see my way to turn in aboard a drifting ship, and take our chance of all going well throughout the night. So, calling old Drainings, who was getting his senses and beginning to understand the muddle we was all in, we lighted our pipes and had a long confab, the end of it being an agreement that the three of us should keep a look-out, turn and turn about. There was to be no steering—nothing but looking. Well, I kept the first look-out, and in all them hours I never see either the captain or the mate on deck. The breeze was small, and the ship lay steady enough, her topsails aback and her staysails drawing. Two or three steamers drove past, and I’m pretty sartin they’d have been into us if I hadn’t taken the precaution to get the side lights over. Bill relieved me at six bells, we having settled for his turn to follow mine, so as to give Drainings time to sleep off the rest of the rum that worked in his system. When I went below the fo’ksle was as hot as an oven, such a smell of liquor about as would have made you think yourself in a public-house, and all hands snoring so loud that you might have reckoned the barque was sailing ten miles an hour, and that noise the sound of the water rolling away from her stem. I turned in all standing, ready for whatever might happen, and fell asleep, and when I woke it was to the tune of a desperate hammering on deck. It was broad daylight, and, when I tumbled up, I found the mate beating the deck and bawling at the top of his voice, ‘Up with ye, you drunken swine! up naked, every mother’s son of you, and don’t stop to dress!’ he was roaring, filling up his meaning with more oaths than he had fingers and toes. He was just in the same condition he had been in all along, rolling and sprawling here and there, and fogging the air all about him with the smell o’ spirits.

“Old Drainings was at the wheel, and I spied the captain aft, holding on to a backstay with one hand and shaking his other hand at Drainings, who grinned in his face. Though pretty near the whole ship’s length was betwixt us, I easily saw that the captain was as drunk as his mate. By-and-by he turns his head and sings out for the mate to lay aft. The mate goes, and the skipper, fetching him a thumping whack on the back—meant for love and good fellowship—casts his arm round the other’s neck, and down they tumble below, for another reviver, no doubt. Drainings left the wheel and came forrard.

“‘I can’t help laughing at the old man,’ says he. ‘Never heerd such nonsense as he talks. But, all the same, what’s to do?’ says he. ‘We shall be driving ashore if we don’t mind. Have any of the men recovered?’

“‘I’ve not had time to see,’ I answers, and I dropped down the fo’ksle hatch to have a look. I stirred them as was on the deck with my foot and made some of them talk to me; but there was not one man among them as was of any use. They had not only come aboard steeped to the eyes in drink, but had brought a quantity of lush along with them, and two or three empty black bottles knocking about ’splained how it was that sleeping in all night hadn’t made these scowbanks fit for duty.

“Well, I don’t want to make an endless job of this yarn, or I’d give you the particulars of that day and the night as followed. By that time most of the men had recovered their senses, and me and Bill took care, as fast as ever we could get ’em to sit up and listen, to ’splain the quandary the vessel was in, and our danger. This sobered ’em quicker than water would have done. They came on deck and took a look around, saw nobody at the wheel, no one in charge, and nothing on the barque but what we had made shift to hoist after the tug had left us.

“This was the afternoon of the third day. The weather looked dirty in the south-west, and shortly before five o’clock the wind breezed up hard. Luckily we was under small canvas. I says to the men, ‘The best thing we can do is to haul down the staysails and heave her to. There’s no telling where she’s been drifting to all these days. No sights have been taken, the log never hove, no reckoning of any kind kept. Whether we’re off England, Hireland, or Scotland I’m not going to calculate; but one thing I’m certain sure of, we shall be having one of them kingdoms close aboard of us before long; and so I reckon our business is to slow down this here drift as fur as we can, whilst we see if the captain means to take charge and sail the vessel to Quebec, or keep drunk and send us all to the bottom.’

“Everybody being agreeable, we hauled down the staysails and backed the foretopsail. There was no watches, the crew hadn’t been divided; however, we formed ourselves into two gangs, and agreed to keep watch and watch till the morning; then, if things remained as they was, we arranged for some of us to go aft to the captain, and, if he refused to do his duty, to hoist a distress signal, and ’splain our situation to the first ship as came along. The deuce of it was, ye see, there was ne’er a man forrards as knew anything of navigation. Had we turned to and seized the skipper’s instruments and charts they’d have been of no use to us. Well, next morning arrived, and found the barque still drifting and the weather as thick as mud in a wine-glass. All hands assembled, and we held a sort o’ parliament, and then it was agreed that I and another should go aft and inquire of the captain what he meant by this conduct. ’Cordingly we lay aft, and going into the cabin found the mate lying there drunk, though not incapable. He asked us what we wanted; but we took no notice, pushing on to the captain’s berth. We hammered on the door, but getting no answer opened it, and saw him lying sound asleep and kinder stupefied in his bunk. We laid hold of him and hauled till we’d roused him up.

“‘Captain,’ says I, ‘we’ve come aft to ask what you mean to do with the barque. She’s drifting anyhow, and all hands feel their lives to be in danger.’

“‘Pooh, pooh!’ says he, stretching his arms and gaping, ‘it’s all right. Have a glass of grog?’

“‘No,’ I says firmly; ‘we don’t want no grog. What we require is to know what you mean to do?’

“Instead of answering, he lay back, turned over and shut his eyes; so, seeing that there was no satisfaction to be got, we came away and went forrards again. The men were now thoroughly scared. They said they warn’t going to stand skylarking of this kind, and if the captain didn’t turn to and take charge and sail the ship back to Liverpool, they’d knock off work. I went aft once more with this message, but though I nearly dragged the captain out of his bed, I couldn’t make him understand, nor even rouse him up. So I walked up to the mate and told him of the men’s resolution.

“‘I don’t care,’ says he; ‘it’s no business of mine. I’m not going to do anything without the captain’s orders.’

“We was in a regular fix. The weather was so thick that it would need a ship to come very close to make out any signal we might hoist; we none of us knew where we were, in what direction to steer, what to do with the barque if we took charge of her. Whilst we were debating, the mate came out, and orders us to square the yards.

“‘What for?’ says the crew.

“‘Why, for Liverpool,’ he answers.

“We turned to with a will, the mate standing at the cabin door looking at us. We held on E.S.E. till about midnight, when we spied a light on the port quarter, and the mate said it was the Chickens off the Calf o’ Man. It proved to be nothing of the kind, but Morecambe Bay light. At daybreak the land was plain to be seen about four miles distant, and the captain, who was now on deck, gave orders for the helm to be put up to let her drive ashore, which she did, the lifeboat coming out when we was close on to the beach, and taking us all off. The first to drop into the boat was the skipper; he wasn’t too drunk to do that.

“What d’ye say to this tale of the sea, sir? What’ll the public think of merchant sailors after hearing it? Should you think proper to print it, I’ll allow that there’ll not be a landsman as won’t reckon it an out-and-out twister, spun from the winch o’ your own invention. But, that there may be no doubt about it, just add what the finding of the Court was as inquired into this business: ‘Neither the master nor the mate attended properly to his duties in navigating the vessel. They were both under the influence of drink during the voyage. The vessel was not navigated with proper and seaman-like care. She was stranded owing to the utter neglect from drunkenness of both master and mate. The Court considered that this was about as gross a case as ever came before a court of inquiry, and found both master and mate grievously and wrongfully in default.’

“Mild enough, sir. Had the Court been aboard, you may take your oath they’d have drawed it considerably stronger.”