After being a month at sea the sailors performed the ceremony called “Burying the Dead Horse,” the explanation of which is this: Before leaving port seamen are paid a month in advance, so as to enable them to leave some money with their wives, or to buy a new kit, etc., and having spent the money they consider the first month goes for nothing, and so call it “Working off the Dead Horse.” The crew dress up a figure to represent a horse; its body is made out of a barrel, its extremities of hay or straw covered with canvas, the mane and tail of hemp, the eyes of two ginger beer bottles, sometimes filled with phosphorus. When complete the noble steed is put on a box, covered with a rug, and on the evening of the last day of the month a man gets on to his back, and is drawn all round the ship by his shipmates, to the chanting of the following doggerel:—

Music to Burying the Dead Horse

BURYING THE DEAD HORSE.

You have come a long long way,
And we say so, for we know so.
For to be sold upon this day,
Poor old man.

You are goin’ now to say good-bye,
And we say so, for we know so.
Poor old horse you’re a goin’ to die,
Poor Old Man.

Having paraded the decks in order to get an audience, the sale of the horse by auction is announced, and a glib-mouthed man mounts the rostrum and begins to praise the noble animal, giving his pedigree, etc., saying it was a good one to go, for it had gone 6,000 miles in the past month! The bidding then commences, each bidder being responsible only for the amount of his advance on the last bid. After the sale the horse and its rider are run up to the yard-arm amidst loud cheers. Fireworks are let off, the man gets off the horse’s back, and, cutting the rope, lets it fall into the water. The Requiem is then sung to the same melody.

Now he is dead and will die no more,
And we say so, for we know so.
Now he is gone and will go no more;
Poor Old Man.

Burying the Dead Horse

After this the auctioneer and his clerk proceed to collect the “bids,” and if in your ignorance of auction etiquette you should offer your’s to the auctioneer, he politely declines it, and refers you to his clerk!As we neared the Equator the heat became very oppressive. On October 2nd, when 7° north of the line, the thermometer stood at 120° in the sun, while under the awning it registered 85°. On the thermometer being dipped into the sea the temperature of the surface water was found to be 82°, while in the cabin at midnight the thermometer stood at 80°, with the wind blowing in at the open porthole.

In passing under the vertical sun the old proverb “may your shadow never grow less” is entirely out of place, for it is impossible it can diminish, unless, indeed, one should become like poor misguided Peter Schlemihl, and find oneself altogether without one! When standing upright my shadow was about two feet in diameter, and it looked like the shadow of the brim of my hat all round my feet.

The wife of the captain of our steamer had been very unwell until we had passed the Equator, and had not come out of her cabin. One evening, soon after she made her first appearance, I was chatting with her, when, finding I was from Cornwall, she asked me if I knew a certain watering-place in that county which she named. It happened that I had a residence at the place in question, and curiously enough she had been a visitor at the same house before I had it, and she said, “last year my sister was staying in the neighbourhood with some friends, when they were nearly caught by the tide on the beach opposite the house, and had to scale the face of the cliff, climbing up some old ladders left in an abandoned mine.” I told her if they had taken my advice, and had turned back, they would not have had such an unpleasant adventure, for I happened to be on the beach at the time, and warned the party of their danger, but they disregarded it! It was curious to be reminded of this occurrence under such circumstances.

Amongst our fellow-passengers were two young men, whose friends, it was reported, had become tired of them at home, and had made a present of them to the Colonies. They were very lively youths, and did their best to keep the ship lively by their pranks and escapades. They were known by the names of “Tall and Fat,” and “Short and Stout,” and were always together. Sometimes, however, the playfulness of these two young men received an unexpected check. On one occasion they had gone “forward” to play some tricks upon the emigrants, who, however, did not see the fun; so, having got the lads into a corner, they covered them, first with molasses and then with flour, and so returned them to the saloon. They did not repeat their visit.

There is one feature on board many ships which always strikes passengers with surprise; and that is the impunity with which the “wild spirits” carry on their disorderly conduct. Drinking, betting, shouting, tramping the deck at unseemly hours of the night, are permitted, to the great annoyance of the majority; but it is in vain that you appeal to the officers—they will not interfere. On one occasion a noisy youth, who went by the name of the “Blatant Beast,” was firing a revolver about “at large,” and although we appealed to the captain, and begged that he would disarm the lad, it was useless—he would not interfere. Ultimately the young man accidentally discharged the pistol and broke his arm, and so relieved his neighbours from further apprehensions for a time.One night “Short and Stout” and “Tall and Fat,” and a few other rowdies, got drunk, and in their rambles found a poor harmless cat, which they chased all over the ship, and succeeded in killing. On the following day these gallant youths determined, in Irish phrase, to “wake” the cat. They proceeded to fit up one of their cabins as a chapel, and upon a bier the corpse of poor pussy was laid, having been dressed for the occasion, candles surrounding the body. The mourners, or murderers, stood around the body with pipes in their mouths, meggy-howling and cat-a-wauling in a most vigorous fashion, afterwards parading the deck, headed by one of their party, arrayed in a dress coat over a night shirt, and wearing a tall white hat, carrying the dead body of poor puss before him.

Betting is often carried on to a great extent, considerable sums of money changing hands. One passenger told me, after we had been some weeks at sea, that he had cleared enough to pay for his own passage, and also for that of his wife and child, and that it only remained for him to win enough to pay for the nurse, and to take them all from Australia to New Zealand, and he should be happy! I knew one man, the father of a very large family, who lost £700 in three weeks, £400 of it going at a single night’s play; yet, with striking consistency, this open-handed gentleman refused to allow his wife and daughters to go on shore at one of the most interesting of our ports of call on the score of the expense, which he said would amount to at least £2 or £3!

A pleasant sight it is to watch the fish and birds which begin to make their appearance about 30° S. Occasionally flocks of flying-fish are to be seen flying a few feet above the water, pursued by dolphins. Sometimes their headlong flight carries them right on to the deck, or through the cabin windows when lighted up after nightfall. They are caught by the sailors at night by the simple device of suspending a net in front of a lantern, and they are said to be very good when cooked.

We first saw that splendid bird, the albatross, when about 28° S. latitude, and when more than 1,000 miles from land. They appeared in flocks, and would follow the ship for many days. Their flight is exceedingly graceful, and very rapid, the movement of their wings being scarcely perceptible. The capture of the albatross is a favourite amusement upon sailing ships—it is scarcely possible to catch them from a steamer—the plan being to let out a line over the stern, having a strong hook baited with a piece of meat or with red cloth. We were successful in catching a magnificent fellow, which measured 15ft. across its wings. A drop of prussic acid applied to the eye of the poor creature causes instant death. The breast forms an excellent muff, and the wing bones make good stems for pipes of the “churchwarden” pattern. One of our passengers was a fiery Irishman, who was travelling with his newly-married wife. One day, while at dinner, the ship gave a heavy lurch, and the lady fell back, breaking her chair; upon which her husband, in a great rage, seized the chair, and, rushing on deck, threw it overboard, when lo! a flock of albatrosses crowded around it, and one fine fellow “took” the chair, and appeared to be addressing his friends!One of the most beautiful creatures to be seen in tropical waters is the “Portuguese Man-of-War.” It is often confounded with the Nautilus, but is a quite distinct organism; it has a crest which can be raised or lowered at will, and its body consists of a long, horizontal, oblong bladder filled with air. They vary in size from 12in. diameter to small discs no larger than a shilling, and present a beautiful appearance as the ship passes by a fleet of them.

(A) The “Classic” Dolphin. (B) The Dolphin

We caught some dolphins, and an examination of their stomachs proved they were not unjustly suspected of eating the pretty little flying-fish. The pilot-fish, also found in these latitudes, is coloured purple and silver, with five black bands across it, and is about five inches in length. We also saw specimens of the white shark, porpoises, grampuses, Mother Carey’s chickens, booby-birds, etc.

One of the most interesting sights at sea is the passing of ships. I shall never forget our meeting a ship in full sail one glorious moonlight night. It came close to us, the moon shining full on its sails, and being like our vessel, a sailing ship, not a sound was heard until our captain hailed the stranger, and asked him to report us “all well.”

One would think there was not much danger of collision at sea, in broad daylight and in the open ocean, but on one occasion, while in a sailing ship, another came so close to us that it was only by the most dexterous management on the part of our captain that a collision was avoided.

The monotony of a long voyage is occasionally relieved by the opportunity of sending letters in homeward-bound ships, and when we had been out about a month we were told to have our letters ready, for a ship was in sight. Everyone was immediately deeply engaged in writing, and presently the stranger came sufficiently near for us to communicate with her. Our signal was run up, “Will you take letters for us?” to which she quickly replied, “With pleasure,” and then a boat left us to take our letter-bag on board the “homeward-bound.” This vessel was from Moulmein with teak, and she had been one hundred days out. Those on board had heard nothing of the Cabul massacre, but they brought us news of the capture of Cetewayo, having got it from a passing ship. In return for this intelligence we told them of the death of the Prince Imperial, which they had not heard of, although it happened before the capture of Cetewayo.

Some of our passengers went on board the passing ship, and two of them scrambled up the rigging, and presently we saw a sailor follow them and tie their legs to the rigging, releasing them as soon as they had paid their footing. In the evening the two ships parted company, saluting each other with rockets of various colours.

While our letters were being taken on board the homeward-bound ship, we saw a huge shark follow the boat until it reached the vessel, and on hearing a shout, “a big fish!” we ran to the ship’s side and saw a whale not more than a hundred feet off. The monster gave a loud snort, spouted water, and then made off. I wonder if it had any idea what we were?

There was a boxing match going forward one day, when the captain invited the parson to put the gloves on. “Oh, no,” he said, “I am a man of peace now.” He told me he objected to war as much as anyone could do. “But,” I said, “your Church does not.” He replied that there was nothing in the teaching of the Church which advocated war; so I asked him, if that was the case, what that part of the prayer-book meant where a hope is expressed that the Queen may “vanquish and overcome all her enemies.”

At dinner one day our friend undertook to explain to us how drain-pipes were made. He said, “You know those round things that are put in the earth to carry off the water?” Some one suggested drain-pipes. “Ah, yes,” he said, “you know they take a kind of clay not like other clay, and put it into a sort of machine and turn it around and the pipes are made.” I thought his description was not so good as that of the Irishman who explained the manufacture of cast-iron pipes by saying, “You take a round hole and pour the metal around it.”

A Colonial Parson

Some one remarking that we were now 36° south, he said, “Ah, that is just 4° below freezing,” having confused the degrees of latitude with those of the thermometer. Upon being told that 32° was the freezing point. “Really?” he said, “I always thought it was 40°.”

In listening to most of the clergymen with whom I have travelled, I have been irresistibly reminded of the complaint made so bitterly, and with so much truth, by Australian importers in the early gold-finding days, that English merchants and manufacturers were utterly reckless as to the quality of the goods they sent out, acting on the principle that “anything will do for the Colonies.” This idea has long ceased to have any currency, for it has been discovered that the coinage of the Australian mint ranks equally with that of London, but it does not appear that those responsible for the due supply of clergymen to the Colonies have realised the same truth, for on every hand I have had my own experience confirmed. The general complaint amongst the colonists, especially in the country districts, is that either young and totally inexperienced men are sent to them, or else men who have proved failures at home; and they not unnaturally resent such treatment.

In a recent voyage we had a large number of steerage passengers, and amongst them was a very earnest, hard-working evangelist from Mr. Spurgeon’s college; this man had sacrificed his ease during the voyage by attending to the sick and ailing “in season and out of season,” and was admitted on all sides to have done much good; frequently, too, he held religious services amongst the steerage passengers, and met with great acceptance. One man had been very ill for a long time, and had been tenderly waited upon by the evangelist. After a time he became suddenly worse, and some passengers at once went to a clergyman, who suggested that the Communion should be administered. Having obtained the help of another clergyman and two or three of the passengers—none of whom had before shown any interest in the patient—they proceeded on their errand without saying a word to the evangelist, and on the following Sunday the clergyman preached a sermon to the poor people, endeavouring to prove that no one had any right to teach or to preach but members of his Church, who, only, held the true commission, by virtue of what he called the “direct succession from Peter:” and I suppose he thought he was preaching religion, not perceiving that he lacked what Paul described as being the highest of all the Christian virtues—that of charity.

In passing through the Tropics one of the most glorious sights is the phosphorescence in the sea. Of course it can be seen to the greatest advantage in the absence of the moon; it is something wonderful, and worth coming all the way to see. As far as the eye can reach, the track of the vessel is marked out with the utmost brilliancy, and sometimes tiny balls of phosphorus seem to explode, scattering their radiance far and wide.

We had as fellow-passengers three young men who rarely spoke to anyone outside their own party, and during the early part of the voyage they usually sat on the deck for hours at a time engaged in reading their Bibles and making notes on the margin. After we had been out a few weeks the youngest of the three was stricken with scarlet fever, and at one time he was seriously ill.

The trio were known as the “Danite Band.” The eldest was a young man about twenty-one, and one evening I had a little chat with him. He said he belonged to no sect; he had “come out from among them”—that his soul was safe, die when he would, and that he could only look on the poor sinners around him with a pitying eye, and pray for their souls. He was rejoicing at having saved one soul since he came on board. It so happened that this young man occupied the same cabin as the youth who was ill with fever, but becoming alarmed for his personal safety (not his soul’s), he requested to be accommodated elsewhere, while another passenger volunteered to take his place and to nurse the invalid, so they exchanged cabins. On the following Sunday the young man who had volunteered as nurse knocked at the pious young man’s door and asked for his boots, receiving for answer, “I won’t be bothered about boots on the Lord’s Day.”

It is usual to hold a bazaar on passenger ships proceeding to or from the Colonies. These bazaars are almost invariably held in aid of the funds of the Merchant Seaman’s Hospital and other similar institutions, and a large sum is annually obtained in this way. The result in the case of the sailing vessel in which I made one of my voyages was a sum of over £50, besides some annual subscriptions, although the number of adult saloon passengers was only about thirty.

Great preparations were made for this bazaar, it being the event of the voyage. The day previous the sailors were busily engaged closing-in the promenade deck with canvas and bunting, and dividing it off into stalls by means of flags and other coloured materials. While thus engaged, another sailing vessel came in sight, and the sea being nearly dead calm the two vessels approached closely, and parties were speedily passing to and fro. We invited some of the passengers in the stranger to join us to-morrow, and they invested about £5 in lotteries before going back for the night.

Next day was a most lovely one, but a heavy rolling sea was sufficient to prevent our visitors of yesterday joining us. Nevertheless, we thoroughly enjoyed the day ourselves, for the whole ship’s company—passengers, crew, men, women, and children—held high carnival on the promenade deck. It was pretty to see the children of the second class who, owing to the high bulwarks, were rarely able to see over the ship’s side, rush first of all to look over the rail at the heaving sea.

The first officer was dressed as a showman, and presided over the Fine Art Exhibition, his face being painted a fine terra-cotta tint. The crew and stewards were variously costumed as nigger minstrels, etc. The stalls were presided over by the ladies, who, as usual, were very successful in disposing of the various articles, which, by the way, were for the most part made up by the ladies themselves during the voyage. Much curiosity was excited by the announcement of a dramatic performance, entitled “The White Squall,” which was to take place in the Theatre Royal. The corps dramatique evinced great anxiety to secure the attendance of the whole ship’s company, and were fairly successful. The performance did not take long, for as soon as the audience were seated cries of “Let go” were heard from the actors, upon which the air was filled with a veritable “White Squall,” consisting of clouds of flour, causing a general stampede.

Next day we found our companion of yesterday lying at some distance ahead, while a stranger lay on the port quarter. A curious instance of cross-signalling ensued. The stranger asks our companion, the St. Vincent, for latitude and longitude. The St. Vincent missing this, and intent on their investment in yesterday’s lottery, puts up, “What have we won?” The reply, “Nothing.” The stranger runs up, “Don’t understand. Repeat, please.” Then St. Vincent replies, “Very sorry,” upon which our Captain signals the stranger, and removes all further doubt.

We passed close to the Island of Tristan d’Acunha, which lies in the South Atlantic, lat. 37° 6' S., long. 12° 7' W. As a curious little history attaches to the island, I make the following extract from our ship’s newspaper:

“Tristan d’Acunha is a volcanic peak of very considerable altitude, so considerable indeed that its summit is covered almost perpetually with snow. It rises sheer out of the water, and there is only a single landing-place on the whole island. Previous to the downfall of Bonaparte it was uninhabited; but when that scourge was despatched to St. Helena, the British Government deemed it advisable to secure this isolated rock, and so prevent the French using it as a base of operations against the place of Napoleon’s internment. A small company of soldiers, in charge of a corporal, was therefore despatched, and left in possession.

“In 1821 Napoleon died, and the necessity for maintaining the garrison at Tristan existed no longer. A man-of-war was accordingly sent to bring away the corporal and his little army. But he and they had by this time comfortably settled down, tilled the—rock we were about to say—and produced excellent potatoes and other vegetables; raised pigs and goats, and having in some mysterious way obtained wives, had raised families too. They were therefore extremely reluctant to leave the scene of their successful labours; and the English Government, nothing loth to encourage colonisation, at once gave the necessary permission to remain, and with it a small pension or annuity.“They have gone on flourishing and increasing, forming a useful and peaceable community in the very centre of the South Atlantic; useful because whalers and other vessels, by putting in there, are able to obtain fresh potatoes, vegetables, and pigs. Little money is used, barter affording sufficient facility for interchange.

“Crime is almost unknown. We had as well said absolutely unknown, for it is doubtful whether the one case of dishonesty on record as such was not rather an ill-fared joke. It seems that when a marriage takes place a pig is killed by the bride’s father, and dressed the night before the nuptials. On the occasion referred to the pig disappeared before morning, and was traced to the house of a notorious wag, as to whose fate history is silent. It is only fair to add that he admitted taking the pig, but protested that it had been done by way of a practical joke. At one time a missionary existed in the midst of this innocent community, but he eventually disappeared—either died or was removed. His place was never refilled, and the consequences have been rather trying to the budding men and women of Tristan, for whereas in the missionary’s days loving couples could be, to use a nautical phrase, “spliced,” when they had made up their minds, now they must wait until a chance man-o’-war, with a chaplain on board, puts in, and as their visits are nearly as rare as those of the angels, the patience of these Tristan lovers must unquestionably be sorely strained. When, however, like some comet of very eccentric orbit, the parson does at length turn up, he finds plenty of ripe pairs ready—nay, eager—for him.“What a popular man that parson must be! Last and most interesting fact. When the ‘Sobraon’ put in at Tristan in 1879 the corporal was still living, a venerable patriarch of ninety years.”

After leaving Tristan we soon get “into the forties,” or as the sailors are wont to say, “the rolling forties,” where the westerly winds steadily prevail, and continue right on until we make Cape Leeuwin. These winds cause the magnificent waves, or “rollers,” which tower up over the stern of the vessel, threatening, apparently, to overwhelm it. In a gale of wind, and when the “following seas” are running at a high speed, it becomes necessary for some vessels to “lie to” in order to avoid this catastrophe. We had an opportunity of seeing this operation. Soon after passing the Cape we were overtaken by a heavy gale, and a high following sea. Our vessel being a sailing ship of the old type, with broad bluff bows, necessitated our adopting that course. Our stern was turned in the teeth of the wind and sea, and, with the exception of a top-sail and jib-sail, all our canvas was closely taken in. She lay so all night labouring heavily, and the sea breaking over her decks.

Soon after sighting Cape Otway vessels bound for Melbourne receive their pilot, whose advent is the occasion of great excitement among the betting fraternity. Bets are laid on the colour of his hair and whiskers, whether or not he has a moustache, the letter with which his name begins, and which foot he will first put on deck. As soon as he makes his appearance he is greeted with shouts of “What’s your name?” Evidently he is accustomed to it, for he does not look surprised. In this particular case everyone was out as to the colour of his hair and beard, for he had a black beard and white whiskers. The pilot brought news of a general election in one of the colonies, and one of our passengers, a colonial statesman, eagerly asked him for papers. The statesman’s countenance was expressive of blankness within when he saw he was beaten in his constituency—but soon brightened on hearing he was returned by another.

The entrance to Hobson’s Bay is very narrow, and the distance therefrom to Melbourne is about 40 miles. We landed soon after six on a January morning, and found the heat almost unbearable. Taking a cab to our hotel, we made our first experience of the high charges in a Protectionist colony, for we were obliged to pay a guinea for this service.

IN THE TROPICS