The lieutenant and commander
by Basil Hall · English · Gutenberg #17032 · 651,534 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The lieutenant and commander
being autobiographical sketches of his own career, from Fragments of voyages and travels
Author: Basil Hall
Release date: November 8, 2005 [eBook #17032]
Most recently updated: December 12, 2020
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17032
Credits: Produced by Steven Gibbs and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIEUTENANT AND COMMANDER ***
Produced by Steven Gibbs and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
THE LIEUTENANT AND COMMANDER;
BEING AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
OF HIS OWN CAREER,
FROM
FRAGMENTS OF VOYAGES AND TRAVELS
BY CAPTAIN BASIL HALL, R.N., F.R.S.
LONDON:
BELL AND DALDY, 186, FLEET STREET,
AND SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND CO.
47, LUDGATE HILL.
1862.
PREFACE.
The present volume is rather a condensation than an abridgment of the
later volumes of Captain Hall's "Fragments of Voyages and Travels,"
inasmuch as it comprises all the chapters of the second and third
series, only slightly abbreviated, in which the author describes the
various duties of the naval lieutenant and commander, the personal
narrative being the framework, and his own experience in both
capacities providing the details.
The editor has no hesitation in stating, after the careful perusal and
analysis he has necessarily made of this work, and that, with a
tolerably extensive knowledge of books, he knows of none which may,
with more propriety, be placed in the hands of young men, whatever
may be their destination in life; but more especially are they adapted
for the use of young officers and all aspirants to a seaman's life.
The personal narrative, slight though it is, renders it very amusing,
and every point the author makes inculcates a rigorous attention to
"duty" duly tempered with discretion and humanity in commanding
officers.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Taking a line in the service--Duty of officers--The dashing
boys--Dashing boys ashore--Philosophers afloat--Naval
statesmen--Scientific officers--Hard-working officers--Poetical
aspirants--Taking a line
CHAPTER II.
A sailor on shore--Irish hospitality--A sailor ashore--Irish
factions--Irish scenery--Land-locked bay--Reflections and
plans--An awkward dilemma--A retreat--A country party--A medical
experiment--My reception
CHAPTER III.
Tricks upon travellers--Irish refinement--A wise resolve--After
dinner--The second bottle--One bottle more--Second thoughts
best--The game of humbug--The climax--You're off, are you?--A
practical bull--Irish hospitality
CHAPTER IV.
The Admiralty List--Chances of promotion--The Admiral's list--My
own disappointment--A good start--Homeward bound--A spell of bad
weather
CHAPTER V.
The tropical regions at sea--Sir Nathaniel Dance--The old Indian
ships--Social life at sea--Details of the voyage--The Canary
Islands--The Trade-winds--Changes of climate--The variable
winds--North-east Trades--Our limited knowledge--The great
monsoons
CHAPTER VI.
The Trade-winds--The monsoons--Theory of the
Trade-winds--Explanations--Tropical winds--Motion of cold
air--Direction of clouds--Equatorial Trades--Calms and
variables--South-east Trades--Application of theories--Atlantic
winds--Monsoons of India--Trade-winds of the pacific--Monsoons
of Indian seas--Velocity of equatorial air--Obstructions of the
land--Horsburg's remarks--Dampier's essay
CHAPTER VII.
Progress of the voyage--Cape of Good Hope--Ships' decks in the
tropics--Sweeping the decks--Marine shower-bath--Flying-fish--A
calm--Ships in a calm--A tropical shower--Washing-day--Comforts
of fresh water
CHAPTER VIII.
Aquatic sports--Weather wisdom--An equatorial
squall--Flying-fish--A chase--The
dolphin--Capture--Porpoises--Harpooning--The bonito--Dolphin
steaks--Porpoise steaks--The albatross--Shark-fishing--A
shark-hook--Habits of sharks--Seizing its prey--Flying at the
bait--The shark captured--Killing the shark--The buffalo skin--A
narrow escape
CHAPTER IX.
A man overboard--Crossing the line--Duty of officers--Rival
Neptunes--A boy overboard--Affecting incident--A true-hearted
sailor--Bathing at sea--A well-timed action--Swimming--A
necessary acquisition--A man overboard--What should be done, and
how to do it--Effects of precipitancy--Life-buoy--Regulations
for emergencies--Managing the ship with a man
overboard--Stationing the crew--Directing the boats
CHAPTER X.
Sunday on board a man-of-war--Mustering by divisions--The fourth
commandment--Short services recommended--Order for
rigging--Scrubbing and sweeping--Sunday muster--Jack's
dandyism--Jack brought up with a round turn--Mustering at
divisions--Inspection--The marines--Round the decks--The
sick-bay--Lower deck--Below--Cockpit--The gun-room--Quarter deck
CHAPTER XI.
The ship church--Rigging the church--Short services
recommended--Short sermons recommended--Religious duties
necessary to discipline--Church service interrupted--The day of
rest
CHAPTER XII.
Naval ratings and sea pay--Mustering clothes--Between decks on
Sunday--Piping to supper--Mustering by lists--A seaman disrated
and rerated--Ratings of seamen--Tendency to do right--Examining
stores--Captain's duties--Clothes' muster--Responsibility--A
sailor's kit--A sailor's habits--Mizen-top
dandies--Hammocks--Piping the bags down--Pressing emigrants--A
Scotchman's kit--Improved clothes' muster
CHAPTER XIII.
Sailors' pets--Purchasing a monkey--Jacko's attractions--Gets
monkey's allowance--Jacko and the marines--Jacko's
revenge--Jacko turns on his friend--Spills the grog--Is
pursued, but is pardoned--Condemned to die--Commuted to
teeth-drawing--Surgeon's assistant appealed to--He can't
bite--The travelled monkey--Trick on the marines--Its
consequences--A potent dose--Its operations--Jack's
superstitions--The grunter pet--Jean's advocate--Her good
qualities--Jean's obesity, and its attractions--Her death and
burial--Well ballasted
CHAPTER XIV.
Doubling the Cape--Southern constellations--Intelligent chief
officer--Sailors and their friends--Parting company--The
cape--Simon's town--A fresh breeze--Rising to a gale--All hands
shorten sail--Value of experience to an officer--Taking in
reefs--Taking in mainsail--Heaving the log--Before the
gale--Effects of a gale--Value of a chronometer proved by the
want of one--Awful catastrophe
CHAPTER XV.
Suggestions towards diminishing the number and severity of Naval
punishments--Corporal punishment--The author's own case--An old
shipmate--Admiralty regulations--Appeal to officers to avoid
precipitation--Dangers of precipitation--Instance of its
dangers--A considerate captain--A case for pardon--An obdurate
officer--Pardon granted--Retrieving of character
CHAPTER XVI.
Bombay--First glimpse of India--Bombay and its scenery
CHAPTER XVII.
Sir Samuel Hood--Naval promotion--Hopes and their
disappointment--An ant-hunt--The Admiral's triumph over the
engineers
CHAPTER XVIII.
Excursion to Candelay lake in Ceylon--Starting of the
expedition--Pearl-divers--A strange tunnel--Hindoo bathing--An
amusing exhibition--A tropical forest--A night scene--An
alarm--A supper--A midnight burial--Cingalese game--Lake
Candelay and its embankment
CHAPTER XIX.
Griffins in India--Sinbad's valley of diamonds--A
mosquito-hunt--Deep anchorage--Local names--Valley of
diamonds--Ceylon gems
CHAPTER XX.
Ceylonese canoes--Peruvian balsas--The floating windlass of the
Coromandel fishermen--American pilot-boats--Balsas of
Peru--Man-of-war boats--Ceylonese canoes--Canoe mast and
sails--Local contrivances--Construction of the balsa--Management
of the sail--Indian method of weighing anchor--A floating
windlass--Failure of the attempt--The Admiral's remarks--An
interesting feat of mechanical ingenuity
CHAPTER XXI.
The surf at Madras--Sound of the waves--Masullah
boats--Construction of the boats--Crossing the surf--Steering
the boat--How a capsize in the surf occurs--Catamarans of the
surf--Perseverance of the messenger
CHAPTER XXII.
Visit to the Sultan of Pontiana, in Borneo--Sir Samuel
Hood--Borneo--A floating grove--Pontiana--Chinese in Borneo--The
sultan and his audience room--Interior of the palace--The
autograph--Anecdote of Sir S. Hood--Getting out of the trap--Sir
S. Hood at the Nile--The Zealous and Goliath--Captain Walcott's
disinterestedness--Sir S. Hood's kindness
CHAPTER XXIII.
Commissioning a ship--Receiving-hulk--Marines and
gunners--Choice of sailors--The ship's company--Choice of
officers--Stowing the ballast--Importance of
obedience--Complement of men in ships of war--Shipping the
crews--A Christmas feast afloat--A Christmas feast in Canton
River--Self-devotion
CHAPTER XXIV.
Fitting out--Progress of rigging--The figure-head--Progressive
rigging--The boats--Fitting out--Stowage of ships'
stores--System requisite--Painting the ship--Policy of a good
chief--Anecdote of Lord Nelson--Scrubbing the hulk--Leaving the
harbour--Sailing
CHAPTER I.
TAKING A LINE IN THE SERVICE.
That there is a tide in the affairs of men, has very naturally become
a figure of frequent and almost hackneyed use in the cockpits,
gun-rooms, and even the captains' cabins of our ships and vessels of
war. Like its numerous brethren of common-places, it will be found,
perhaps, but of small application to the real business of life; though
it answers capitally to wind up a regular grumble at the unexpected
success of some junior messmate possessed of higher interest or
abilities, and helps to contrast the growler's own hard fate with the
good luck of those about him. Still, the metaphor may have its
grateful use; for certainly in the Navy, and I suppose elsewhere,
there is a period in the early stages of every man's professional life
at which it is necessary that he should, more or less decidedly, "take
his line," in order best to profit by the tide when the flood begins
to make. It is difficult to say exactly at what stage of a young
officer's career the determination to adopt any one of the numerous
lines before him should be taken: but there can be little doubt as to
the utility of that determination being made early in life. In most
cases, it is clearly beyond the reach of artificial systems of
discipline, to place, on a pair of young shoulders, the reflecting
head-piece of age and experience; neither, perhaps, would such an
incongruity be desirable. But it seems quite within the compass of a
conscientious and diligent commanding officer's power by every means
to cultivate the taste, and strengthen the principles and the
understanding of the persons committed to his charge. His endeavour
should be, to train their thoughts in such a manner that, when the
time for independent reflection and action arrives, their judgment and
feelings may be ready to carry them forward in the right path; to
teach them the habit, for instance, of discovering that, in practice,
there is a positive, and generally a speedy pleasure and reward
attendant on almost every exercise of self-denial. When that point is
once firmly established in the minds of young men, it becomes less
difficult to persuade them to relinquish whatever is merely agreeable
at the moment, if it stand in the way of the sterner claims of duty.
Although the period must vary a good deal, I should be disposed to
say, that, in general, a year or two after an officer is promoted to
the rank of lieutenant, may be about the time when he ought fairly and
finally to brace himself up to follow a particular line, and resolve,
ever afterwards, manfully to persevere in it. His abilities being
concentrated on some definite set of objects; his friends, both on
shore and afloat, will be furnished with some tangible means of
judging of his capacity. Without such knowledge, their patronage is
likely to do themselves no credit, and their _protégé_ very little, if
any, real service.
Some young fellows set out in their professional life by making
themselves thorough-bred sailors; their hands are familiar with the
tar-bucket; their fingers are cut across with the marks of the ropes
they have been pulling and hauling; and their whole soul is wrapped up
in the intricate science of cutting out sails, and of rigging masts
and yards. Their dreams are of cringles and reef-tackles, of knots,
splices, grummets, and dead-eyes. They can tell the length, to a
fathom, of every rope in the boatswain's warrant, from the flying jib
down-haul to the spanker-sheet; and the height of every spar, from the
main-top-gallant truck to the heel of the lower mast. Their delight
is in stowing the hold; dragging about kentlage is their joy; they are
the very souls of the ship's company. In harbour they are eternally
paddling in the boats, rowing, or sculling, or sailing about; they are
always the first in fishing or bathing parties; in short, they are for
ever at some sailor-kind of work. At sea, their darling music is the
loud whistle of the hardest storm-stay-sail breeze, with an occasional
accompaniment of a split main-topsail. "The harder it blows, and the
faster she goes," the merrier are they; "strong gales and squally" is
the item they love best to chalk on the log-board; and even when the
oldest top-men begin to hesitate about lying out on the yard to gather
in the flapping remnants of the torn canvas, these gallant youngsters
glory in the opportunity of setting an example of what a gentleman
sailor can perform. So at it they go, utterly reckless of
consequences; and by sliding down the lift, or scrambling out, monkey
fashion, to the yard-arm, where they sit laughing, though the spar be
more than half sprung through, they accomplish their purpose of
shaming the others into greater exertions. It is well known that one
of the ablest, if not the very ablest, of the distinguished men whom
the penetrating sagacity of Nelson discovered and brought forward,
owed his first introduction to the notice of that wonderful commander
by an exploit of this very description.
These are the dashing boys who cut out privateers, jump overboard
after men who cannot swim, and who, when the ship is on fire, care not
a farthing for the smoke and heat, but dive below with the engine-pipe
in their hands, and either do good service, or perish in the flames
with a jolly huzza on their lips. Such may fairly be called the
muscular parts of our body nautical, for there is no gummy flesh about
them; and when handled with skill, they form the stout instruments
which help essentially to win such battles as the Nile and Trafalgar.
The young persons I have just been describing are, however, by no
means servile imitators of the sailors; they possess much useful
technical knowledge, as well as mere energy of character; and often
both think and act with originality; yet they are docile to the last
degree, and delight in nothing more than fulfilling, to the very
letter, the orders of their superiors. They may amuse themselves, as
youngsters, by affecting the gait, the dress, and the lingo of the
man before the mast; and are at times supposed to be a little too
familiar with these models, on whom they pretend to shape their
manners; but still they never carry the joke so far as to become what
is called "Jack and Tom," even with the leading men in the ship. They
can sing, upon occasion, snatches of forecastle ditties, or fling off
a hornpipe worthy of the merriest cracked fiddle that ever sounded
under the bow of a drunken musician amongst a company, half-seas over,
at the back of Point Beach. Not content with
"Their long-quartered shoes, check shirt, and blue jacket,"
they will even thrust a quid into their cheek, merely to gain the
credit, such as it is, of "chewing backy like a sailor."
But there must be a limit to the indulgence of these fancies; and if
even an elder midshipman or mate of the decks were permanently to
distinguish himself after this masquerade fashion, he would speedily
lose caste even with the crew. When a mid, for example, is promoted to
lieutenant, he must speedily decide whether he shall follow up in
earnest a course of strictly seaman-like objects, of which the mere
outward show had previously captivated his young fancy; or he must
enter into some compromise with himself, and relinquish a part of his
exclusive regard for these pursuits, in consideration of others less
fascinating, to be sure, but more likely to bear on his advancement;
for, without some knowledge of many other things, his chance must be
very small in the race of professional life.
In tolerably wide opposition of habits to these tarpaulin men follow
the less dashing and showy race sometimes called "star-gazers,"
sometimes "dictionary-men," who are also occasionally taunted or
dignified by their messmates with the title of "philosophers." The
object of most of these young philosophisers is to get at the reason
of all things, and to be able not only to work by the rules laid down
for them in printed books, or in the written orders of their
superiors; but to investigate the foundation of these rules and
regulations so thoroughly, that when new cases occur, they may have it
in their power to meet them by fresh resources of their own: according
in spirit, with those which experience has shown to be conducive to
the happiness of the crew and the efficiency of the service. Out of
the class of officers now alluded to, the growth of which it has been
the wise policy of late years to encourage, there have sprung up the
numberless voyagers, surveyors, and other strictly nautical men, who
are always to be found when the public service requires a practical
question to be settled, or a professional office of responsibility and
trust to be filled up. If the arctic circle is to be investigated by
sea or by land, or the deserts of Africa traversed, or the world
circumnavigated afresh, under the guidance of the modern improvements
in navigation, the government at once calls upon such men as Parry,
Franklin, Clapperton, Beechey,[1] to whom they can safely entrust the
task.
From the same class, also, a valuable race of naval statesmen have
been drawn. For a considerable number of years, the whole of the
diplomatic duties of South America, as far as concerned the interests
of England, were carried on by the naval commanders-in-chief. Who can
forget how important a share of Lord Nelson's command, or, after him,
of Lord Collingwood's in the Mediterranean, consisted of duties of a
purely civil description? And it may be questioned if diplomatic
history offers a more masterly specimen of address and statesman-like
decision, as well as forethought, than was displayed by Captain
Maitland, in securing the person of Buonaparte, not only without
committing himself or his government, but without wounding the
feelings of the fallen emperor. The case was, and ever must remain,
unique; and yet the most deliberate reflection, even after the event,
has not suggested anything to wish changed. Fortunate, indeed, was it
for the reputation of this country that the delicate task fell to the
lot of an officer possessed of such inherent vigour of character, and
one so familiar with the practical exercise of his own resources, that
difficulties which might have staggered ordinary minds vanished before
his.
In so extensive a service as the Navy, accident might perhaps
occasionally produce such men as have been named above; but it is very
material to observe, that unless there existed, as a permanent body, a
large class in the Navy, who follow the pursuits alluded to from taste
as well as from motives of public spirit, and from whose ranks
selections can be made with confidence at moments of need, such
opportunities as those above alluded to might often be allowed to pass
unprofitably. It is, moreover, important to recollect, that it is in
these matters as in everything else where there is a great demand, and
consequently a great supply, there will from time to time start up a
master spirit, such as that of my lamented friend, the late Captain
Henry Foster, to claim, even in the very outset of his career, the
cheerful homage of all the rest. So far from the profession envying
his early success, or being disturbed at his pre-eminent renown, they
felt that his well-earned honours only shed lustre on themselves.
It is also very pleasing to observe the reciprocal feeling which
belongs on such occasions to all rightly constituted minds. When
Captain Foster, in 1828, then only lieutenant, received the Copley
medal, the highest scientific honour in the gift of the Royal Society,
it never occurred to him merely to hang it at his breast in solitary
dignity, or to chuckle presumptuously at his own particular good
fortune. So far from this, he thought only of the service; and
proceeding straight to the Admiralty, he showed the medal, and
declared modestly, but firmly, to their lordships, that he considered
the honour only nominally bestowed upon himself, but essentially
conferred upon the naval profession at large. This generous and manly
appeal could not fail to make its due impression; and within the same
hour, his commission, as commander, was signed, his appointment to a
ship ordered, and a voyage of scientific research carved out for him.
But I need not add how bitter a grief it is to those who were
personally acquainted with this rising young officer, to think that so
much knowledge--such useful talents--such unmatched zeal and
industry--and such true love for science--all so fertile in promises
of future service and renown--should have been lamentably quenched in
a moment.
Besides the regular-built sailors, and the saltwater statesmen and
philosophers, there is yet another set which greatly outnumbers both,
and which, if comparisons must be made, equals, if it does not far
exceed them in utility. I allude to that large and very important body
of strictly professional persons who are not remarkable for anything
in particular, unless it be for a hearty and uncompromising devotion
to the service. Captains, it is to be feared, are generally too apt to
consider these meritorious persons as less entitled to attention than
their more showy companions; just as schoolmasters are, not
unnaturally, disposed to devote most of their time to the cleverest
boys, to the comparative neglect of those who cluster round the point
of mediocrity. It may, however, be easily conceived that the persons
least attended to, afloat as well as on shore, often stand more in
need of notice and assistance than their gifted brethren, who are
better able to make their own consequence felt and acknowledged; for
it must not be forgotten that these honest, hard-working men actually
perform the greater part of all the routine drudgery of the service,
and perhaps execute it better than men of higher talents could do in
their place.
The class amongst us who devote themselves to sober literary pursuits
is necessarily very small; but that of the happy youths, who dream the
gods have made them poetical, has many members, who "rave, recite, and
madden round the ship," to their own (exclusive) satisfaction. Others
there are who deal desperately in the fine arts of painting and
music,--that is, who draw out of perspective, and play out of tune:
not that the ability to sketch the scenes and phenomena continually
passing before them is objectionable; I allude here to the pretenders
to art. Their poor messmates can have little respect for these
pretending Rembrandts and Paganinis; and the happiness of the mess
would be considerably improved if authority were given to pitch every
such sketch-book and every flute out at the stern-port.
Finally come the raking, good-looking, shore-going, company-hunting,
gallivanting, riff-raff set of reckless youths, who, having got rid of
the entanglement of parents and guardians, and having no great
restraint of principle or anything else to check them, seem to hold
that his Majesty's service is merely a convenience for their especial
use, and his Majesty's ships a sort of packet-boats to carry their
elegant persons from port to port, in search of fresh conquests, and,
as they suppose, fresh laurels to their country.
Few men do anything well which they do not like; for the same reason,
if an officer be capable of performing services really valuable, his
success must arise from turning his chief attention to those branches
of the profession which he feels are the most congenial to his
peculiar tastes, and which experience has shown lie within the range
of his capacity. Some officers deliberately act upon this, while the
greater number, as may be supposed, adopt their line unconsciously.
Still, it is the bounden duty of every well-wisher to the service to
use the influence he possesses to lead the young persons about him to
follow the true bent of their genius, and to select as a principal
object of study the particular branch of the profession in which they
are most likely to benefit themselves permanently.
I well remember, in my own case, the day, and almost the very hour,
when these convictions flashed upon my mind. I then saw, for the first
time, that unless I speedily roused myself, and "took my line"
vigorously, the proper occasion might swiftly pass away. I was quite
astonished how, up to that moment, I had seen so little of what now
appeared so very palpable; every other consideration was instantly
dismissed, and all minor vanities being shaken off like dew-drops to
the air, I set resolutely about the attainment of my promotion, the
grand object of every officer's ambition. But before describing how
this important affair was put in train, I shall attempt a sketch of
the kind of life I was leading about this period. In looking back to
those days, and glancing the mind's eye along the intermediate years,
I sometimes ask myself whether or not I should act very differently if
permitted to make the voyage over again, under the guidance of
experience bought by the practice of life. The retrospect, of course,
offers some unavailing regrets; but still I can hardly believe that
the result would, on the whole, have proved materially happier for
myself.
Such being the case, I trust there is no unpardonable egotism in
mentioning, in a work intended for young people, that one of my chief
motives for bringing these Fragments of my life and adventures before
them, is the hope of imparting to others, similarly circumstanced, a
portion of that spirit of cheerfulness, and that resolute
determination to make the most of things, which, after thirty years of
activity and enjoyment in foreign climes, have landed me in perfect
contentment at home.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] All gone since our author wrote. Now it looks for Osbornes,
Maclures, and other names as trustworthy.
CHAPTER II.
A SAILOR ON SHORE.
It is a far easier thing to get into a house in Ireland than to get
out of it again; for there is an attractive and retentive witchery
about the hospitality of the natives of that country, which has no
match, as far as I have seen, in the wide world. In other places the
people are hospitable or kind to a stranger; but in Ireland the affair
is reduced to a sort of science, and a web of attentions is flung
round the visitor before he well knows where he is: so that if he be
not a very cold-blooded or a very temperate man, it will cost him
sundry headaches--and mayhap some touches of the heartache--before he
wins his way back again to his wonted tranquillity.
I had not a single acquaintance in Ireland when first I visited that
most interesting of countries: before leaving it, however, after about
a year and a-half's cruising off and on their coasts, I was on pretty
intimate terms with one family at least for every dozen miles, from
Downpatrick on the east, to the Bloody Foreland on the west, a range
of more than a hundred and twenty miles.
The way in which this was brought about is sufficiently
characteristic of the country. I had inherited a taste for geology;
and as the north of Ireland affords a fine field for the exercise of
the hammer, I soon made myself acquainted with the Giant's Causeway,
and the other wonders of that singular district. While engaged in
these pursuits, I fell in with an eminent medical practitioner
resident in that part of the country, a gentleman well known to the
scientific world: he was still better known on the spot as the most
benevolent and kindest of men. In no part of the globe have I made a
more agreeable or useful acquaintance. During a residence of a week
under the roof of this delightful person, he frequently urged me to
make acquaintance with some friends of his, living also in the north
of Ireland, but at the opposite angle. He was, in particular, desirous
that I should see a family with whom he described himself as being
very intimate, and who were then on a visit far in the west.
Influenced by the extreme earnestness of my worthy friend, who,
indeed, would hardly let me stir from his house until I had promised
to deliver, with my own hands, a letter of introduction to a lady
alluded to, who, he assured me, would introduce me to the family with
whom she was then living as a guest. I thought it rather an odd
arrangement that a mere guest should introduce a stranger to another
person's house: but I had already seen enough of the hearty
hospitality of Ireland not to wonder at anything having a kind purpose
in view. I therefore promised that, if at any time I could obtain
leave of absence for a few days, the introductory letter should be
delivered.
I did not discover, until long afterwards, the secret motive of my
friend's anxiety that I should pay the visit in question, though, at
the time alluded to, I was quite coxcomb enough to suppose that it all
arose from personal consideration. It mattered little to me, however,
to what the kindness was due; and, my leave having expired, I set off
to the Endymion, of which I was then second lieutenant, with a firm
resolution to avail myself of the first opportunity of visiting the
persons to whom my excellent friend the doctor had given me an
introduction. I had been so frequently absent before, that I expected
to be fixed on board for a long time to come, and was therefore
agreeably disappointed to discover that my brother-officers had formed
so many pleasant acquaintances at Burncrana, a town on the banks of
the magnificent Lough Swilly, that they were quite willing to remain
on the spot, and to take upon their shoulders the extra duty which my
renewed absence imposed upon them. I had only, therefore, to obtain
the captain's permission for a fresh run. This was easily gained, for
he was the most indulgent of mortals; and his only caution was, "Now,
mind, don't you be falling in love with any of these Irish girls. It
will be quite time enough for that when you are a post captain."
I promised to attend to his advice, and set out in the highest glee,
wishing for no better sport than to try the firmness of my resolutions
on this head, though, it must be confessed, I was fully more inclined
to follow the precept enjoined upon me by another friend, who, by way
of improving the captain's instruction, said,--
"Do take care what you are about when you mix with those fair and
fascinating witches, and never hold yourself as heart-safe, unless you
are in love with at least two of them at once!"
Off I went; but it matters not whether the course steered was to the
east or to the west after leaving Londonderry: a letter of
introduction in my pocket naturally determined my route; and, having
hired a good stout horse, I strapped my valise behind, and set out on
a fine summer's evening in quest of adventures. Yet I was in no
respect prepared to find myself so soon in what appeared very like a
field of battle. I had not proceeded twenty miles before I came to a
village surrounded by troops, and guarded at the ends of its few
streets by loaded cannon, with lighted matches smoking by their sides.
A considerable encampment was formed on a slightly rising eminence
near the village; and on the neighbouring ground, still farther off,
might be seen large irregular groups of people, who, I learned, upon
inquiry, were chiefly Orangemen, preparing for a grand ceremonial
procession on this the 12th of July, the well-known anniversary of the
battle of the Boyne. In order to resist this proceeding on the part of
the Protestants, an immense multitude on the Roman Catholic side of
the question were likewise assembled, and all the roads converging
towards that quarter were lined with parties of men carrying sticks in
their hands, flocking to the expected scene of action. The military
had been called in to keep the peace, but the angry passions of the
respective factions were so much roused, that even the precautions
above described seemed hardly sufficient to prevent the threatened
conflict.
As a matter of curiosity, I could have no great objection to seeing
another such battle as the one I had witnessed near Corunna between
those long-established fighting-cocks, the French and English; but to
look on while honest Pat and Tim were breaking one another's heads
upon abstract political grounds, and English soldiery interposing with
grapeshot and fixed bayonets to make them friends again, was what I
had no mind for. I tried, therefore, to extricate myself forthwith
from this unhappy struggle; but my horse being tired, I was forced to
sleep in a village which, for aught I knew, might be sacked and burned
before morning; nothing occurred, however: nevertheless, I felt far
from easy till out of reach of the furious factions; the strangest
thing of all being that some quiet folks, a few miles distant, with
whom I took breakfast, seemed scarcely to mind it, although the
country round them was all on fire. From thence the course lay across
a wild range of mountains, one of them having on its top a sheet of
fresh water called Loch Salt. Nothing can be conceived more desolate
or dreary than this part of the country; and as there were few
inhabitants upon it at any time, and none at all at this moment, I had
no small difficulty in making good my way. On coming nearer to the
noble bay or lough, on the banks of which the country-seat of my
unknown friends was to be found, the aspect of things changed as if by
magic. A slight inequality in the ground concealed this "jewel in the
desert," as it was often called, till the whole of its rare beauties
could be seen to the greatest advantage. Even without the contrast of
wild moors, the singular beauties of the spot claimed the highest
admiration; but after such a preparative they appeared doubly grateful
to the senses, and I put spurs to my horse, anxious to come nearer to
such a delicious scene.
The mansion of my future friend, of which only partial glimpses could
be caught now and then, was well guarded on every side by fine old
trees, rising from the surface of carefully-dressed grounds, richly
stocked flower-gardens, long and wide avenues, and graceful terraces,
some of which reached to the very water's edge, along a delicate beach
on which the ripple scarcely broke. This charming domain occupied a
narrow spit of land, or promontory, jutting forwards into a landlocked
bay, or arm of the sea, in which the water appeared to lie always
asleep, and as smooth as if, instead of being a mere branch uniting
with the stormy Atlantic, it had been some artificial lake. Nothing,
indeed, which the most fertile imagination could suggest seemed to be
wanting.
There was one extremely well-conceived device at this delightful spot,
which I never remember to have seen anywhere else, though, there must
often occur in other places similar situations in which it might be
imitated. Not far from the house, but quite hid under a thickly-wooded
cliff, overhanging a quiet bight or cove, about ten or fifteen yards
across, lay a perfectly secluded pool, with a bottom of snow-white
sand. It was deep in the middle, but shelved gradually to its margin,
which rested on a narrow strip, or beach, of small round polished
pebbles. This fringe, encircling the cove, was surmounted by a dry
grassy bank, or natural terrace, reaching to the foot of the rock, the
face of which was not merely perpendicular, but projecting so much
that the top more than plumbed the edge of the basin. Along the
sky-line there was drawn a fence or veil of briars, honeysuckles, and
other impervious bushes, interspersed with myrtles, wild roses, and
foxgloves, so thickly woven together, that all external view of this
_beau ideal_ of a bath was rendered impossible. The only access was by
a narrow, steep, and winding path; and at the upper end was placed a
high, locked gate, the key of which was in the exclusive charge of the
ladies.
As I rode on, ignorant as yet of these and many other rich and rare
beauties of this singular spot, and only admiring the general aspect
of things, I began, for the first time, to reflect on the extreme
awkwardness of my situation.
Here was I merely the bearer of an introductory letter to a lady,
herself a guest in the house; and although it might have been
allowable enough to have called to deliver such an introduction, had
business or accident brought me to the neighbourhood, now it seemed
rather a strong measure to travel fifty or sixty miles across a wild
and disturbed country merely to pay a morning call. The inference that
my intention was to make a visit of some duration, became inevitable;
and I pictured to myself the string of explanations I had to give,
which might, after all, not be followed by any invitation to remain.
After long cogitations, I resolved to steal up to the house, if
possible, unperceived; have my horse turned over to the groom, and my
portmanteau stowed out of sight, and then to walk boldly up to the
door, with a visiting-card in one hand, and my credentials in the
other, to be delivered to the servant for the lady to whom the letter
was addressed. I next proposed to stroll about the woods, to give
time for any good things said of the bearer to work their way,
hoping, by this rather clumsy manoeuvre, that by the time I returned
to the house its inmates might be prepared to receive the stranger;
and then, if their invitation to remain should happen not to be very
pressing, I might pretend to be collecting specimens for my geological
friends, and so make my escape; though, to own the truth, nothing was
farther from my thoughts than geology.
In spite of these ingenious plans, I felt myself rather absurdly
situated, and half wished I had not engaged at all in such an
unpromising adventure. It seemed, however, too late to retreat, and
therefore I jogged on, as earnestly hoping not to be detected as ever
did any troops in advancing to the attack of a besieged fort.
What, then, was my speechless horror, on riding up the approach, to
discover a cavalcade of not fewer than a dozen ladies and gentlemen
bearing right down upon me from the house. Had it been a troop of
French cuirassiers charging across the ground, and threatening
annihilation to the unfortunate hack and his rider, I could not have
been much more astounded. The master of the house was probably of the
number; he would stop to inquire the business of the
suspicious-looking stranger invading his territories. The person for
whom I brought a letter, being an elderly lady, was not likely to be
on horseback amidst a party of young folks. There would be a general
halt ordered; while the poor new-comer, with his draggled horse and
swollen valise indicative of anything but a hasty departure, would
become the subject of a pleasant criticism to the quizzical dandies
and young ladies of the party. Even when this scrutiny was over, what
were they to do with their unexpected, self-elected companion? His
horse was now too tired, and much too ugly at any time to accompany
such gay palfreys as were prancing over the lawn; yet they could not,
in common civility, leave a stranger adrift; nor could they accompany
him back to the house, without breaking up their expedition for the
day.
All this flashed through my mind in a moment, and left me in a dire
dilemma. I pulled up my jaded nag, however, with such a jerk, that I
well-nigh threw him on his haunches. Fortunately, a little unevenness
in the ground hid me from the view of the advancing cavalry; and at
the same critical instant I discovered an opening in the fence on one
side. Without considering or caring whither it might lead, I turned my
charger round, urged him forwards with whip and spur, and dashed into
the gap as if I had been flying from the arm of justice, instead of
making my escape from as companionable a set of people as ever
breathed. Had any of the party detected the bashful fugitive, and
given chase, he must have been caught; for the path into which I had
fled terminated in a road leading to some farm offices, but with no
opening beyond.
The awkwardness of my situation, which was already considerable,
became greatly augmented by this ridiculous proceeding; and I heard
the riders pass within twenty yards of my hiding-place, with the most
unspeakable alarm lest any one of them should catch a glimpse of me
nestling behind a cart of hay. I breathed freer when the last
servant's horse crossed the ridge; and then, creeping from my hole,
soon gained the stables adjoining the house, gave up my horse,
secured the well-stuffed valise out of sight, and repaired, according
to the original precious scheme, to the front door with my letter. I
stood for five minutes with the knob of the bell in my hand,
irresolute whether to go on with the adventure, or fairly to cut and
run from it. At length, when the fatal pull was given, I listened to
the sound, and felt myself what statesmen call "fully committed."
There was now nothing left but to screw up my courage, as I best
might, to meet the dangers and difficulties of the crisis.
There happened to be no one at home except the old lady, to whom my
introduction was addressed, so that the plan succeeded very well; I
forget now the details of the introduction, but I can never cease to
remember the unbounded cordiality of the reception, not only from this
excellent person, but from the master and mistress of the house, and
all their assembled friends, showing how totally I had miscalculated
the nature and extent of Irish hospitality. There were several elderly
persons, then in the autumn of life, and several were very young
folks, scarcely able to walk, who now count many "daughters and sons
of beauty." There was a pretty equal admixture of Irish and English,
amongst them several persons of rank; also one or two foreigners;
besides much native wit, worth, and beauty, of the highest order, and
all most delightfully set off by the graces and nameless enchantments
of refined manners, and tasteful as well as useful accomplishments. I
have rarely, if ever, seen in any part of the world so fascinating an
assemblage of all that would render a country party agreeable as was
here collected in one of the most out-of-the-way corners of Ireland.
My worthy captain's advice was now thrown to the winds; and indeed any
heart, aged twenty-two, must have been made of cast-iron to have
resisted the rides and walks, the picnic dinners, the dances, and the
music parties, and suppers, besides the infinitely varied round of
other amusements, grave and gay, which contributed to render, and will
for ever preserve, this nook of Ireland the true terrestrial paradise
of my early days.
How the deuce I ever contrived to get out of the magic circle, I
hardly know; but if I could only feel myself at liberty, without a
breach of confidence, to give a few details of those hours, I would
stake great odds on the side of the effect which the description of
such a reality might produce, against the interest of the imaginary
scenes in almost any romance.
I have already mentioned that the gentleman whose introduction I
carried was most urgent for me to deliver the letter in person; but he
gave no reasons for this anxiety; nor indeed was I then aware, that,
besides his being an intimate friend, he was their family physician.
While acting in this capacity, he had seen with regret how ineffectual
his art had proved to alleviate the mother's sorrow caused by the
recent loss of her favourite son. The young man had been in the Navy,
and would have been about my own age and standing in the service.
These accidental coincidences suggested to her judicious and
kind-hearted friend, that as I, in some degree, resembled him in
appearance and in manners, the poor mother's thoughts and feelings
might possibly be diverted into a new channel, by the society of a
person in so many respects similarly circumstanced to the child she
had lost.
It so happened, fortunately for me, that the experiment completely
succeeded--I hope and believe, to the mother's consolation. To me, of
course, the reception I met with was matter of delight and
astonishment; so much so, indeed, that I occasionally felt somewhat
startled, and almost oppressed, with the sense of obligation imposed
by such unusual and unmerited attentions.
The first explanation of the mystery is really so touching in itself,
that I give it without reserve as I received it in a letter from this
most excellent old lady, about six months after my first acquaintance
with her, and just before I quitted England for the East Indies:--
"Once more adieu!" She concludes, "I must hope you will write to me
often; let me constantly know how you proceed, and how I can address
you; and recollect, you have received the freedom of this house. I
believe I told you I had lost a son, a lieutenant in the Navy, and of
superior talents. I therefore consider that Heaven has given you to my
care in his place--and may the Almighty protect you!"
CHAPTER III.
TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS.
A curious and vastly pleasing fashion prevails in that part of Ireland
where I was so nearly bewitched as almost to forget my ship, my
duties, and everything else, but beauty! When a party, such as I have
been describing, had passed a certain time together, they seldom broke
up entirely, but generally shifted, or emigrated in a body (flitted, I
think they used to call it) to the house of some one of their number.
Now and then various members of the group dropped off by the way, but
their places were presently filled up by others, who soon found their
way to the new hive when the well-known sounds of festivity were heard
in the neighbourhood.
In this manner the party, into which I had been so kindly admitted,
made several moves, with sundry losses and accessions to its numbers;
and as every day rendered this life more and more grateful, I could
scarcely bear to think of returning to the tame occupations and rugged
society of the frigate, the duties of which had so recently been my
greatest and most sincere delight. Meanwhile, since my good-natured
captain, and still better-natured messmates, made no difficulties
about this protracted absenteeism, I continued to involve myself
deeper and deeper at every step. I failed not to perceive at times
that I was getting into rather a dangerous scrape for a younger son
and a young officer, who had yet to work his own way in the world. But
as these reflections interfered rather impertinently with the
enjoyments of the hour, they were crushed down, and kept out of sight
as much as possible at that gay period.
What surprised me most, all this time, was the air of refinement and
high polish in the Irish society amongst which I was thus casually
thrown. I had previously entertained an idea that their hospitality,
proverbial in all parts of the world, was of a rude and rather
troublesome description. I found it, on the contrary, marked not only
by the strongest lines of sincerity and kindness, but by many of those
delicate touches of consideration for the feelings of others which
form the most indubitable symptoms of genuine good-breeding.
Instead of discovering that the stories were true about the sort of
compulsion used in matters of drinking, I can safely say that, during
the course of experience in joviality I went through in the north of
Ireland, I seldom met with anything at a gentleman's table approaching
even to exigence on this score. I do not deny that our friends the
Irish have a wonderfully winning way of insinuating their good cheer
upon us, and sometimes of inducing us to swallow more claret than is
perhaps good for us.
I landed once at Burncrana, a pretty quiet little village, with a
watering-place look, on the eastern banks of that great and beautiful
bay Lough Swilly. One side of this fine harbour is formed by the bold
promontory of Inishowen, celebrated in every land for its noble
whiskey, second only (which, as a Scotchman, I am bound to assert) to
Ferntosh or Glenlivet. I was accompanied by an English gentleman, on
the first day of his landing in Ireland. As he then seriously imagined
the inhabitants to belong to a sort of wild and uncouth race, I could
see he was rather surprised at the gentleman-like deportment of an
acquaintance of mine resident on the spot, for whom he had brought a
letter. We had walked together to his house, or rather cottage, for he
was not a fixed resident, but came there for summer quarters. The
neatness, and even elegance, of the domestic arrangements of his
temporary establishment, both without and within the dwelling, gave
token of a taste many degrees removed from the state of people far
back in civilization. Presently the ladies came; and their national
frankness, modified by the most entire and unaffected simplicity,
puzzled my friend completely. In due season the dressing-bell sent us
off to prepare for dinner; and while we were getting ready, my
companion said, "I see what this fellow is at: he means to sew you and
me up. You may do as you please; but I'll be shot if he plays off his
Irish pranks on me. I will eat his dinner, take a couple of glasses of
his wine, make my bow to the ladies, go on board by eight or nine
o'clock, and, having given them a dinner in return, shall have done my
duty in the way of attention; after which I shall totally cut the
connection. I have no idea of their abominable fashion of forcing
strangers to drink."
"We shall see," said I; and having knocked the dust off our shoes,
down we went to dinner.
Everything was plain, and suitable to the pretensions of a cottage.
There was no pressing to eat or drink during dinner; and in process of
time the cloth was removed, the Ladies sipped a little sweet wine, and
disappeared.
"Now for it," whispered my friend; "he has sent the women out of the
way, that he may ply us the better."
And I must own things looked rather suspicious; for our host, instead
of sitting down again at the dinner-table, walked to a bow-window
overlooking the anchorage, and exactly facing the setting sun, at that
hour illuminating the whole landscape in the gorgeous style peculiar
to combined mountain and lake scenery. "Why should we not enjoy this
pleasant prospect while we are discussing our wine?" said the master
of the house. At that instant the door opened, and in walked the
servant, as if he knew by intuition what was passing in his master's
head.
"Tim," said our host, "put the card-table here in the bow-window, and
give us some other glasses; also, if you have such a thing, bring up a
bottle of claret."
Tim nodded, smiled, and made the fitting adjustments. The table was
barely large enough to hold a noble long-corked bottle, for the
fashion of claret decanters had not as yet reached that remote
district of the empire. Round the margin was placed the necessary
accompaniment of capacious glasses--famous tall fellows, with such
slender stalks that they seemed scarcely equal to the weight of their
generous load.
My friend and I exchanged glances, and I could see his shoulders
slightly raised, as if he was saying internally, "Now we are in for
it! but I will not drink a drop more than I choose." The claret, which
in itself was most delicious, was cooled in perfect style. The party
consisted, I think, of four or five persons, and this one bottle, I
remember, just passed round the group twice. As the flavour of the
beverage appeared to have become more exquisite at the second turn
than at the first, though but a short interval had been allowed to
elapse, it seemed odd that another bottle was not instantly called
for. Instead of this our landlord went on expatiating on the beauties
of the Lough, and the fineness of the season in general, and the
sunset in particular, for full five minutes after the wine had
disappeared; when he suddenly said, with a half-hesitating tone,
towards my English friend, who sat at his elbow----
"I beg your pardon! perhaps you would take some more wine?"
As no one made any objection, the bell was rung, and Tim re-appeared,
bearing with him another bottle. This likewise vanished in a trice,
and Tim was again summoned. "Bring some more claret," said the master
to the man, or rather boy, as he was called, though twice as old as
any of the party.
At this instant I caught my companion's eye; and I could see he was
becoming alive to the plot against him, so much so, indeed, that he
seemed to be preparing to rise. The following conversation, however,
attracted his attention, and fixed him to his seat. "Well, Tim, what
are you gaping at? Why don't you run for the clar't?"
"I didn't know," replied the other, "whether you'd like to use the
whole of it."
"Use the whole of it!" exclaimed his master--"what does the boy mean?
Why, Tim, what are you at?"
"Oh, sir," quoth the well-instructed rogue, "as the wine you brought
was but little, I thought you might not wish to use it all entirely
to-day." And then he whispered something in his master's ear, the words
of which we could not distinguish. The reply, however, showed, or
seemed to show, what had been said. "Nonsense, Tim, nonsense! you're
an ass, man; bring it up."
Tim accordingly disappeared, but soon returned with a basket
apparently full of straw; at the bottom of which, however, after some
considerable show of hunting, a couple of bottles were said to be
found. "Confound you, Tim, is this all?" said the host.
"It is, sir," lied Tim; "and in faith, sir," added he, still lying,
"it's one more bottle than I thought; for there was but a dozen when
we started from Derry a week ago; and you know, sir, you and the
collector on last Tuesday"
But the catalogue of circumstances which were intended to act as
buttresses to Master Tim's inventions was cut short by a peremptory
order to leave the room. This he did so soon as he had made a
circumbendibus to escape notice, and deposited the basket behind his
master's chair, muttering, as he put it down with a thump, "There's a
couple of bottles of as good wine as ever was uncorked."
The fresh broach was indeed so delicious that we could hardly believe
it was of the same vintage as that of the previous bin, though our
host assured us it was "the identical." Tim's basket well merited a
higher eulogium than he had given it; but while his reputation as a
judge of wine rose, his character for veracity fell in about the same
proportion, since we beheld, in due season, not merely two, but three,
and at last a fourth long-necked gentleman from Bordeaux emerge from
under the straw!
The trick played upon us by these confederates was now apparent
enough; but the wine, fortunately, was of that light and pure kind
which does not produce much effect on strong heads, and that of my
companion was proof against far greater trials than this. He was
indeed perfectly aware of what was passing; and though dearly loving
the wine, which was superior to any he had ever before tasted, yet he
had no notion of being made tipsy by means of a common-place concert
between host and butler. He therefore rose to leave the room,
expecting, of course, to be forcibly detained, or, at all events,
being begged and entreated to sit down again. Not a whit! The wily
native merely observed to him that "if he had a mind to admire the
prospect, there was still daylight enough to command a view down the
bay from the little knoll on the right." The Englishman was sorely
puzzled by all this. There was none of the detention he expected would
be practised upon him, and yet he had a strong consciousness that he
was undergoing the operation well known afloat and ashore by the title
of "the game of humbug." At the same time, he felt the most eager
desire to take another good pull at the claret.
There was no wine before us at this critical juncture of the evening,
and our landlord, who, most unaccountably, seemed indifferent to this
material circumstance, went on prosing for a quarter-of-an-hour about
Protestant ascendancy, the eternal siege of Derry, the battle of the
Boyne, and such like stale topics. At length one of the company became
somewhat impatient, and, watching for a pause, asked his host if it
were the custom in Ireland to discuss Orange politics with empty
glasses?
"God bless me," cried the other, with well-feigned surprise, "is there
no wine on the table?" and ringing the bell furiously, scolded poor
Tim so naturally that the confederate was almost thrown out. "Well!
you numskull, why don't you make off with you, and bring something for
the gentlemen to drink?" Tim stood fast till interrogated a second
time, and then replied with perfect gravity that "there wasn't another
drop of wine in the house." Upon this the master got up in a rage, and
brushing past the servant, declared his intention of searching the
cellar himself. He was absent some time, and we had just prevailed on
our hesitating companion to sit down again, when, as if there had been
some electrical communication between his chair and the handle of the
door, it opened, and in walked our generous entertainer, exulting in
his success, crowing like chanticleer, and bearing in each hand a
couple of bottles, clicking against each other; while Tim, with a
degree of impudence equalled only by that of his master, substituted
clean glasses, of a still more capacious swallow than the first. To
these were added two pair of candles which towered high above the
jolly crew, and promised to last till another dawn should look in upon
our revels. By this time the twilight had almost entirely ebbed away,
and was succeeded by that cheerful, aurora-kind of brilliancy in the
sky, which points out the place of the sun during the whole of his
summer night's journey in those high latitudes. Politics dropped, for
the joyous juice of the grape soon melted us all into one mind; and a
hundred topics of more pleasing interest were started, in which the
strangers could join without fear of any angry discussion. The mirth
and animation of the company rose very pleasantly as each fresh bottle
found its way by some magical process to the table. But it became
rather difficult to tell who were the listeners amongst us, or to say
who was guest and who landlord, for the party seemed like a circle of
brothers, all equally at home.
This went on for an indefinite length of time, but I should be the
veriest conjuror on earth to say how long. Through the hazy atmosphere
of my recollection of that jolly evening, I remember that about eleven
o'clock, more or less, our host was enchanted almost beyond the power
of words by seeing his wine so much relished, and tickled also with
the success of his joke, in making his suspicious guest drink just as
much wine as he thought fit to impose. On this occasion, however, he
inverted the proverb, and reckoned without his guest; for, by one
imprudent remark, he had well-nigh torn the laurels from his brow.
"Well, sir!" he exclaimed, "although this is the first day you ever
set foot on the island, you have seen enough, I hope, to satisfy you
that we are not quite such savages as you supposed; liberty hall, you
see, is the true title of every Irish gentleman's dining-room: there's
no compulsion here, you must see very clearly." It was little that my
English friend could now see very clearly of anything; but the above
premature announcement of victory brought back all the stranger's
suspicions. Fired with this idea, he started on his feet, and eyeing
the door for a long time before he ventured on the voyage, with a bold
determination, and taking a good departure from his chair, he gained
his port. He had undoubtedly expected to be lugged back again; for he
whisked the tails of his coat out of reach, while, with his other hand
on the lock of the door, and swaying himself about from side to side,
like a ship in a calm, he stood the very image of tottering
equilibrium, as the mathematicians call it. Our adroit landlord, who
was not a man to shrink from difficulties, mustered to his aid all the
resources of a long well-practised hospitality, and gallantly met this
great occasion. His devices were, probably, exhausted; so he took
another line, and called out, "Oh, you're off, are you? Very
well--you'll find the ladies in the drawing-room. I think I hear the
tinkle of the piano: I prefer the tinkle of the glass. Pray tell the
damsels we are coming by-and-bye: mind you say 'by-and-bye.' I don't
like to be too particular, for fear of seeming rude: don't you see?"
This speech was wound up by a telegraphic flourish of the hand towards
Tim, who stood near, with a bottle between his feet, the screw buried
in the cork, and his body bent to the effort, which he only delayed to
exercise till ordered by his master to pull. "Out with him, man! out
with the cork!" cried the host. The loud report which succeeded rang
over the apartment like the sweetest music to the souls of the ever
thirsty company. Tim's thunder was echoed back by a truly
bacchanalian shout, such as nothing on earth can give proper emphasis
to, except a double allowance of claret. The Englishman, fairly
subdued by the sound, glided again to the table; then seizing his
brimming glass in one hand, and grasping the fist of his merry host in
the other, he roared out,--
"You really are an uncommon good fellow; and hang me if ever I
distrust an Irishman again as long as I live!"
But within three minutes afterwards this promise was broken; for as
soon as we had discussed the bottle which the incomparable Tim had so
opportunely introduced, the master of the house, seeing us at length
quite at his mercy, and eager to go on, rose, and said, to our great
amaze,--
"Come! we've had wine enough; let's join the ladies in the next room."
The disappointed company stared at one another, and loudly proclaimed
that it was not fair to limit them in this way. The Englishman, in
particular, wished to remain; but our host was inexorable. Meanwhile,
Timothy grinned from ear to ear; familiar with his master's tricks
upon travellers; and the landlord deliberately opening the door,
marched off the field of battle with flying colours.
As we moved along to the drawing-room, my companion whispered to me,--
"I must own I have been rightly served for my suspicions. I made quite
certain of being bullied into drinking more than was agreeable to me;
but it turns out," added he, laughing, "quite the reverse; for I
cannot get a drop of wine, now that I want it."
"Well! well!" cried our hospitable friend, who overheard the
conclusion of this remark, "you shall do as you please ever after this
evening."
He then showed us to a couple of snug rooms, which he said were ours,
as long as we chose to occupy them.
For myself, I went off to the Giant's Causeway in the course of next
day; and on returning, at the end of a week, found that my friend,
instead of cutting the connection, according to promise, had not been
once out of sight of the house, and had never been asked to drink a
bottle, or even a glass, more than he liked. He declared, indeed, that
he had rarely met, in any country, with persons so truly hospitable,
or more gentleman-like, in the truest sense of these words.
CHAPTER IV.
THE ADMIRALTY LIST.
In the midst of these gay doings, which were all very well for a time,
but rather profitless on the whole, an extremely favourable opening
for promotion suddenly occurred. The late Sir Samuel Hood, on being
appointed commander-in-chief of the East India station, was applied to
by my friends, and agreed to take me with him as one of his
lieutenants. His list of _protégés_, he said, was a long one, and I
must come in last; after his old followers were provided for, but
there could not be a moment's doubt on the occasion. In his letters,
the Admiral dwelt very strongly on the importance of having the name
of his young friend, as he was good enough to call me, placed likewise
on the Admiralty List.
The purpose of this advice is easily explained. The Admiral on a
foreign station is allowed actually to appoint, or promote, to certain
vacancies only, any officer whom he pleases, while on the occurrence
of all other vacancies, except those which are thus specifically
placed at his disposal, he is furnished with what is called an
Admiralty List. In former times, whatever it be now, the Admirals
abroad were allowed to appoint officers of their own selection to
vacancies occasioned by death, or by the sentence of a court-martial;
while they were instructed to nominate those persons only who stood on
the Admiralty List to such vacancies as arose from officers falling
sick and invaliding; from the accession of ships captured and
purchased into the service; from officers deserting (which strange
event has sometimes happened); or from the squadron being increased by
ships built and launched on the station. But as these last enumerated
are, generally speaking, of much more frequent occurrence than those
which fall to the Admiral's peculiar share, an officer on the
Admiralty List has a proportionately better chance of promotion than
one who stands merely on that of the commander-in-chief.
These two lists differ essentially in one material feature. As a
matter of course, the Admiral's List possesses some degree of
stability; since a place upon it is generally won by long service
under his flag, and retained there by personal esteem or family
connection. An Admiral's follower, indeed, far from being a term of
reproach, is always one of honour, as it implies the confidence and
regard of the flag-officer. To get placed therefore, however near the
end, on the good books of a rising Admiral is almost a certain road to
promotion.
On the other hand, the Admiralty List is kept a profound secret, or,
what comes nearly to the same thing, is kept strictly out of sight of
those it most concerns. It is well known to be formidably intricate in
its arrangements, and very slippery in its promises; indeed, from the
circumstance of its depending on the fluctuating interests of party
politics, it must be essentially pie-crusty in its texture. For it is
sometimes thought in the political world that as much may be done by
propitiating antagonists as by rewarding friends. How all this may be
in sound principle I cannot tell; but nothing in practice can be more
unsteady, or less to be relied upon, as I too well know, than this
said Admiralty List. Still, the advantages of getting his name on this
precious little slip of paper are very great, though it be a most
unofficial-looking note sheet, as I can testify, from having once
incidentally been afforded a glimpse of one, on which, to my horror,
my own name was not! If the admiral of the station be also a personal
friend, that source of favour, of course, always adds another string
to the young man's bow. Circumstances likewise occasionally arise
which enable an admiral, who has an officer's interest really at
heart, to give him an extra lift at the right moment, and in the right
direction, provided his name actually stands on the Admiralty List,
even though it be ever so low down.
Before sailing for India, accordingly, I took a world of pains to make
out this grand point, tormented my friends and relations most wofully,
and, as I conceived, with eventual success. A distinct assurance was
given to a near connection of my own, and a member of parliament, that
my name would certainly stand on the First Lord's list, to be sent out
to India in his Majesty's ship Volage, of which I had the farther good
fortune to be appointed junior lieutenant. A change at the Admiralty
was then confidently expected; and I took every care, as I thought, to
have it arranged that my name should not be omitted when the new
First Lord came into power. Little dreamed I that, in the _mêlée_ of
official patronage and personal favour which shortly afterwards took
place at headquarters, my poor name would be dropped out altogether.
The provoking consequence was, however, that I had the mortification
of seeing sundry capital vacancies in India pass by, one after
another, which, had I occupied even the very low place on the fresh
list which I had filled on the old one, might have secured my
promotion several years sooner than it came.
The old Volage, in which we sailed for India, I am forced to confess,
was one of the least good-looking of all his Majesty's ships and
vessels then afloat. But by this time I cared not one fig for the
looks of my ship, though, a month or two before, I should have
considered it a point of honour to maintain its beauty. I was
delighted beyond measure to think that, at length, I was on the right
road to promotion; and this satisfaction was more than doubled by
finding the East was the region in which that great prize was to be
sought for.
Although the men-of-war and their convoy sailed from Spithead on the
25th of March, they did not reach Madeira till the 19th of April. It
is always more teasing to be delayed at the outset of a voyage than at
any other stage of its course, just as it is mortifying and hurtful to
be checked in the commencement of a profession. Upon this occasion we
had a fine rattling easterly breeze for eight-and-forty hours after
starting, which swept us all, dull sailers and good ones, merrily out
of the British Channel. This fair start is always a grand affair,
whatever succeeds; for if the prevalent westerly wind catches a ship
before the channel is left well behind, she may be driven back to
Plymouth or Falmouth, and all the agony of bills, news, leave-taking,
and letters, has to be endured over again. Whereas, if she once gets
the Lizard Light some fifty leagues astern of her, all these worrying
distractions may be considered at an end. A totally new world--the
"world of waters"--is now entered upon, far beyond the reach even of
those long-armed persons, the "gentlemen of the press," or the
startling sound of the postman's knock; that call which so often sets
off the steadiest-going pulse at a gallop!
Oh, the joy! the relief unspeakable! of feeling oneself fairly under
weigh, and of seeing the white cliffs of Old England sinking in the
north-eastern horizon right to windward! Let the concocters of
romances and other imaginary tales say what they please of the joys of
returning home; give me the happiness of a good departure, and a
boundless world of untried enjoyments ahead. If a man be out of debt
and out of love, or only moderately involved in either of these
delicate predicaments; if he have youth and health and tolerable
prospects, a good ship under his foot, good officers over him, and
good messmates to serve with, why need he wear and tear his feelings
about those he leaves behind? Or rather, why need he grieve to part
from those who are better pleased to see him vigorously doing his duty
rather than idling in other people's way at home? Or wherefore should
he sigh to quit those enjoyments in which he cannot honourably
participate till he has earned his title to them by hardy service?
On the other hand, who is there so insensible as not to feel the
deepest apprehension, on returning from a long and distant voyage?
Busy fancy will conjure up images of death and sickness, of losses and
sorrows. And when the accumulated pile of letters is first placed in
our hands after a long voyage, with what sickening eagerness do we not
turn from the superscription to discover the colour of the seal?
It happened once to me to be nearly fifteen months without receiving a
single line from home, or seeing an English newspaper. On reaching the
port of rendezvous, I found that as the ship I commanded was the only
man-of-war in the harbour, there devolved upon me an immense load of
official business requiring immediate and careful attention. All this
I learned on my way to the consul's office, where a huge budget of
letters was delivered to me. My first impulse, naturally, was to tear
away the envelopes, and dive into the secrets of these domestic
dispatches; but I paused on detecting several ominous-looking patches
of black wax, and, thrusting them all into a drawer, did not open one
till next day. Officially considered, it was well I imposed this
restraint upon my curiosity; for the fatal news these letters
contained must have seriously interfered with the exclusive
professional attention which the nature of the service required me to
bestow upon various public matters admitting of no delay; whereas, in
regard to the private intelligence, a single day, added to so many
months, signified nothing.
After leaving Spithead, our two days of fair wind were enough to take
us clear of the channel, and well off the bank of soundings, far
beyond the danger of return. A tolerable spell of bad weather then
came on, which in one sense was of essential service, by contributing
greatly to assist the first lieutenant's arrangements, though it
discomfited most grievously the apple-pie order of those disturbers of
his peace, the shore-going, long-coated gentry, our passengers, whom
the sailors, in their coarse but graphic vocabulary, call "dog
robbers," from their intercepting the broken meat on its way to the
kennel from their master's table. Our gale of wind, indeed, was no
gale to speak of; but as the sea rose, and a heavy press of canvas
laid the creaking old barky well over on her broadside, many of the
beautifully piled boxes, the well-packed portmanteaus, the polished
dressing cases and writing-desks, the frail glass, crockery, and other
finery, fetched way, and went rattling, smash! dash! right into the
lee scuppers. In the next instant, the great bulk of these materials
were jerked back again to their original situation, by that peculiar
movement, so trying to unpractised nerves, called a lurch to windward.
To unaccustomed ears, the sounds on this occasion lead one to suppose
the ship is going to pieces; while the cries for help from the
broken-shinned, sea-sick landsmen, the bawling for cleats and lashings
from the mate of the decks, the thumping of hammers, and the loud
laugh of the light-hearted middies, enchanted with the uproar, make a
fine concert. The sedative effect of two or three hours of this work
exceeds fresh-water belief; so that in a day or two, Messrs. Neptune,
Boreas, First Lieutenant, and Co., have re-established their
legitimate authority so completely, that neither servants, nor any
other passengers, ever afterwards venture to indulge in those
liberties which, at first coming on board, they fancied might be taken
with impunity.
CHAPTER V.
THE TROPICAL REGIONS AT SEA.
There sailed along with us in the Volage, from Spithead, the Princess
Caroline, 74, and the Theban frigate, to aid in protecting a fleet of
East India Company's ships, all for China direct.[2] As these ships
were of the largest class, well manned, well commanded, and were
likewise pretty well armed, and got up to look like men-of war, our
force had not only an imposing appearance, but was capable of baffling
an enemy, even in considerable strength. There is, indeed, one signal
instance on record in which a fleet of East India Company's ships
actually beat off, unassisted, a French squadron of very powerful
vessels. These striking incidents, peeping out from time to time, show
what is called the true blood, and are extremely valuable, proving how
essential it is that an officer in command should "Never say die while
there is a shot in the locker!" a pithy old phrase, which will apply
to many situations in life, civil as well as military. Had the gallant
commander alluded to, Sir Nathaniel Dance, yielded when the French
Admiral Linois, and his squadron, consisting of the Marengo, a
line-of-battle ship of 84 guns, and the Belle Poule and Semillante
frigates, each of 44, bore down on the China fleet, not less than six
millions of English property, and some of the noblest trading ships
that float on the ocean, must have been carried into the Isle of
France.
This memorable affair took place near Pulo Aor, in the China seas, and
by a very interesting, and no doubt useful coincidence, on the 14th of
February, 1804, the seventh anniversary of the glorious action off
Cape St. Vincent. Had the enemy only known the real force of his
opponents, which he most certainly ought to have found out before he
quitted them, the bold front these ships put forward might indeed have
served them nothing. A less resolute man than Captain Dance might have
said this good fortune was hardly to be calculated upon; but it is the
duty of a commander, at all times and under all circumstances, to
afford himself every possible chance, and never to give up while there
is one of these chances left.
A useful chapter in naval history and tactics could be written on the
defence of convoys, by which it might perhaps be made manifest that a
determined bearing, accompanied by a certain degree of force, and a
vigorous resolution to exert that force to the utmost, would, in most
cases, save the greater part of the convoy, even against powerful
odds. In the well-known instance, in which Captain Richard Budd
Vincent sacrificed his ship, in a contest where he was from the first
sure to be overpowered, he gained sufficient time for most of his
flock of merchant-ships to escape.
In February, 1805, this gallant officer, in the Arrow, of 18
twenty-four pounders, ably supported by Captain Arthur Farquhar, in
the Acheron bomb, carrying not half that number, actually engaged two
large French frigates, mounting in all 90 guns and 1300 men, while the
English force was only 26 guns and 90 men. The damage and delay caused
to the enemy by this spirited resistance enabled the convoy to
disperse, and all get off but three, out of thirty-two. The English
ships did not strike till they were so much cut up that one sunk
immediately afterwards, and the other was burned by the captors as
useless.
On the occasion of our voyage in 1812, however, the fortitude and
skill of our East India ships were put to no such proof, as our most
interesting evolutions were confined to the interchange of good
dinners; for your Indiamen know as well how to eat, drink, and be
merry, as to fight, if need be. Their chief business is to trade; but
their trading is a widely different thing from that of the ordinary
merchant service. The East India Company's officers are bred in many
respects like naval men, and they feel in the same manner. Being
sprung from as good a stock as the officers of the Navy, they possess
a kindred gentleman-like spirit, and are in every respect suitable
allies in battle.
In fine weather, during our whole voyage, there scarcely occurred a
day on which, in the course of the morning, if the sea were tolerably
smooth, and the wind not too strong, the dinner invitation signal was
not displayed from the commodore, or from some of his flock. When
there was a breeze, and the ships were making way through the water,
some technical address was necessary to avoid delay. This will easily
be understood, without going into minute details, when it is
remembered, that there must always in a convoy be found certain ships
which sail worse than others, and that, although these tubs, as they
are most deservedly called, crowd all their canvas, the rest are
obliged to shorten sail in order to keep them company; as Lightfoot,
in the fairy tale, was obliged to tie his feet in the race. If it be
the commodore who gives the dinner, he either heaves to, while the
boats of the several captains come on board, or he edges down to the
different ships in succession, passes them at the distance of a
quarter of a cable's length, picks up his guests, and resumes his
station ahead, or to windward, or wherever it may suit him to place
himself so as best to guard his charge. If any of the fast sailers
have occasion to heave to, either before or after dinner, to lower
down or to hoist up the boat which carries the captain backwards and
forwards to the ship in which the entertainment is given, and in
consequence of this detention any way has been lost, that ship has
only to set a little more sail that she may shoot ahead, and regain
her position in the line.
The bad sailers of all fleets or convoys are daily and hourly
execrated in every note of the gamut; and it must be owned that the
detention they cause, when a fine fresh breeze is blowing, is
excessively provoking to all the rest, and mortifying to themselves.
Sometimes the progress of one haystack of a vessel is so slow that a
fast-sailing ship is directed to take her in tow, and fairly lug her
along. As this troublesome operation requires for its proper execution
no small degree of nautical knowledge, as well as dexterity, and must
be performed in the face of the whole squadron, it is always exposed
to much sharp criticism. The celerity with which sail is set, or taken
in, by the respective ships, or the skill with which broken spars are
shifted, likewise furnish such abundant scope for technical
table-talk, that there is seldom any want of topic in the convoy.
Sailors, indeed, are about as restless as the element on which they
float; and their hands are generally kept pretty full by the necessity
of studying the fluctuating circumstances of wind and weather,
together with due attention to the navigation.
These occupations served to give a high degree of interest to this
Indian voyage, which, to most of us, was the first; the mere
circumstance of having to pass successively and quickly through a
number of different climates, first in the order of increasing warmth,
and then in the reverse order of increasing cold, was of itself most
striking. The change of latitude being the chief cause of these
phenomena, a succession of astronomical variations were necessarily
attendant upon the progress of the voyage; easily explained by
reasonings, and the actual, practical exhibition, as it may be termed,
of the truths of astronomical science failed not to strike the
unfamiliarised imagination as both wonderful and beautiful.
When we sailed from England the weather was very cold, raw, and
uncomfortable; and although we had a couple of days' fair wind at
starting, we were met in the very chops of the channel by hard-hearted
southerly and south-westerly winds, which tried our patience sorely.
On the evening of the tenth day we caught a glimpse of the north coast
of Spain; and the rugged shore of Galicia was the last which most of
us saw of Europe for many years. It was not till after a fortnight's
hard struggling against these tiresome south-westers that we anchored
in Funchal Roads, having by the way dropped several of our convoy.
These stray sheep came in during the few days we remained to refresh
ourselves at this most charming of resting-places. After nearly a
week's enjoyment, we proceeded on our course to the southward; within
three days we came in sight of Palma, the most northern of the Canary
Island group. It was thirty miles distant in the south-east quarter;
and Teneriffe, the sea "monarch of mountains," lay too far off for us
to perceive even his "diadem of snow," which at that season (April), I
presume, he always wears. Some years after the period in question,
when I paid him a visit, in the month of August, the very tip-top was
bare, and the thermometer at 70°.
Under more favourable circumstances, we might possibly have seen
Teneriffe from the Volage, for our distance was not above a hundred
miles. This, however, it must be owned, is a long way to see the land,
unless it form a continuous ridge of great elevation, like the Andes;
and even then, to be distinguished well, it requires to be interposed
between a bright sky and the ship. At day-break, and for about half an
hour before sunrise, if the weather be clear, even sharp peaks, like
the cone of Teneriffe, may be seen with a degree of distinctness which
is very remarkable, when viewed from the distance of a hundred miles
and upwards, as I have several times experienced when navigating in
the Pacific. But when the full splendour of the sun's light begins to
fill the air, these gigantic forms gradually fade away amongst the
clouds, or melt into the sky, even when no clouds are visible. I have
likewise been told, that, in sailing directly away from Teneriffe (or
other high insulated peaks), and keeping the eye pretty constantly
fixed in the proper direction, it may be retained in sight at much
greater distance than it can be discovered on approaching. I am
disposed to consider this very probable, but have never had a good
opportunity of trying the experiment.
It was late in April, as we were stealing slowly past these distant
Canary Islands, when the first real puff of the Trade-wind caught our
sleeping sails, and made the braces, haulyards, and all the other
ropes connected with the yards, crack again. This breeze served more
effectually to detach our thoughts from European interests than
anything which had occurred since our leaving England. At the very
moment, however, when we were chuckling at this disentanglement of our
feelings from domestic anxieties, and all the varied agitation of home
concerns, we observed a ship crossing our path at some distance.
Signal being made to chase, we instantly darted off from the convoy to
examine the stranger, which proved to be an English ship from Lisbon.
We hailed, and asked, "What news?"
"Badajoz has fallen," replied the other, "after a terrible siege."
This was received with a general buzz of joyous congratulation along
the decks. In answer to further questions, we were told of some three
or four thousand men killed and wounded in the trenches and breach.
Then, indeed, the glorious intelligence was greeted by three jolly
huzzas from every ship in the convoy!
Nothing so startling as this occurred to us again; but the serenity of
our thoughts was in some degree interrupted, a few days afterwards, by
the north-easterly Trade-wind dying away, and a gentle south-wester
springing up in its place. This occurred in latitude 25-1/2° N.,
where, according to our inexperienced conception of these singular
winds, we ought to have found a regular breeze from the very opposite
quarter! Nor was it till long afterwards that I learned how much the
force and direction of the Trade-winds are liable to modification by
the particular position which the sun occupies in the heavens; or how
far the rotatory motion of the earth, combined with the power which
the sun possesses of heating certain portions of the circumambient
air, are the regulating causes of the Trades, Monsoons, and, indeed,
of all the other winds by which we are driven about. It is by no means
an easy problem in meteorology to show how these causes act in every
case; and perhaps it is one which will never be so fully solved as to
admit of very popular enunciation applicable to all climates. In the
most important and useful class of these aërial currents, called, _par
excellence_, and with so much picturesque truth, "the Trade-winds,"
the explanation is not difficult. But before entering on this curious
and copious theme, I feel anxious to carry our convoy fairly across
the tropical regions; after which an account of the Trades will be
better understood.
I have just mentioned that the changes of temperature, on a voyage to
India, are most remarkable. We set sail, for instance, in the month
of March, when it was bitterly cold in England; then we came off the
coast of Spain, where it was a little more moderate; next to Madeira,
which is always agreeable. Then we passed the Canaries; after which we
sailed over the tropic of Cancer, and got well toasted in the torrid
zone; steered down upon the equinoctial line, passed the tropic of
Capricorn, and again became conscious of the weakened influence of the
sun; till, at length, off the Cape of Good Hope, we were once more
nipped with the cold. Anon, having rounded the south point of Africa,
we put our heads towards the line, and a second time, within a few
weeks, emerged from the depth of winter into the height of summer.
The proximate cause of all these vicissitudes was, of course, our
approach towards and removal from the direct influence of the great
source of light and heat. At one time, the sun, even at noon, was seen
creeping stealthily along, low down in the horizon, at another his
jolly countenance was blazing away right overhead. On the 5th of May,
when our latitude was 17-1/2° N., the sun's declination was 16-1/4°
N., his centre being only one degree from our zenith: shadows we had
none. On that day we saw St. Antonio, the north-westernmost of the
Cape de Verde Islands, the summit of which is about seven thousand
feet above the sea.
On the next day I well remember going on deck with a certain flutter
of spirits, to see, for the first time in my life, the sun to the
northward, and moving through the heavens from right to left, instead
of from left to right. No one doubts that the earth is round; yet
these conspicuous and actual proofs of its rotundity always amuse the
fancy, and frequently interest the judgment, almost as much as if they
were unexpected. The gradual rise, night after night, of new stars and
new constellations, belongs to a still higher order of curiosity; for
it not merely places well-known objects in strange positions, but
brings totally new subjects of contemplation before our eyes, and
leads us to feel, perhaps more strongly than upon any other occasion,
the full gratification which novelty on the grandest scale is capable
of producing. I shall never forget the impatience with which I have
often watched the approach of darkness after a long day's run to the
south, knowing that, in a few moments, I was to discover celestial
phenomena heretofore concealed from my view.
After slanting through the north-east Trade-wind, we reached that
well-known but troublesome stage in the voyage, so difficult to get
over, called the Variables. This region has acquired its title from
the regular Trades not being found there, but in their place unsteady
breezes, long calms, heavy squalls, and sometimes smart winds from the
south and south-westward. These Variables, which sorely perplex all
mariners, even those of most experience, while they drive young ones
almost out of their senses, are not less under the dominion of the
causes which regulate those great perennial breezes the Trades,
blowing to the northward and southward of them. Their laws, however,
are not quite so readily understood, and consequently are not so
easily allowed for in the practice of navigation.
When we actually encounter, on the spot, and for the first time, a
crowd of new circumstances, of which, previously, we have only known
the names, or have merely heard them described by others, we feel so
much confused and bewildered, that we fly eagerly to the nearest
authority to help us out of the scrape. It generally happens, in these
cases, that the reference does not prove very satisfactory, because
the actual circumstances with which we are engaged are rarely similar
in all their bearings to those with which we compare them; and when
this is not the case, the blindfold method of proceeding in the beaten
path is very apt to mislead.
As an illustration of this kind of deception, it may be stated that
navigators, whose actual experience has not extended to the tropical
regions, are very apt, in poring over the voyages of others, to
acquire, insensibly, a very confident notion that each of the great
Trade-winds blowing on different sides of the Line (the North-east and
the South-east by name), are quite steady in their direction; and
that, in the equatorial interval which lies between them, only calms
and light winds are to be found. Moreover, inexperienced persons
generally believe this interval to be equally divided by the equator,
and that both the breadth and the position of this calm region
continue unchanged throughout the whole year. Now, here are four
important mistakes,--important both in a scientific and in a practical
point of view. For, 1st, Not calms and squalls alone, but occasionally
fresh and steady winds, are found between the Trades; 2ndly, The belt
called the Variables is by no means equally divided by the equator;
neither, 3rdly, is that belt stationary in its position; nor, 4thly,
is it uniform in its breadth. It will thence be easily understood,
even by a person who has never quitted one of the midland counties in
England, and to whom the ocean is an unseen wonder, that a new-comer
to the tropical regions, his head loaded with these false views, will
be very apt to mistake his own ignorance for the caprice of Nature,
and perhaps call out, as I once heard a man do, in all the agony of
impatience caused by a protracted head-wind,--"Now, this is really
scandalous usage of the clerk of the weather-office!" The scandal,
however, lay not so much with the clerk's usage as with his own
limited knowledge; for if, at the very time of his imprecation,
instead of abusing the foul wind, and keeping his yards braced sharp
up, and making his sails stand like a board, the grumbler had known
how to take advantage of it, and had kept away two or three points,
set his fore-topmast studding-sail, and flanked across or through the
breeze which he had in vain tried to beat against, he might not only
have saved his temper, but have made his passage in half the time.
I am not sure that, in the whole range of this extensive subject,
there could be picked out an instance more in point to what has just
been said, than these interesting phenomena of the Trade-winds. To
sailors of every age and rank, and especially to naval officers, an
acquaintance with the laws which regulate these extraordinary aërial
currents must be of great importance. For a commander may be ordered,
at a moment's warning, either to carry his own ship, or to lead a
squadron, or to guard a convoy, from the northern to the southern
hemisphere, or perhaps from the West to the East Indies. If, however,
he have not previously made a tropical voyage or two, or have not
studied the subject in its genuine theoretical spirit, as well as in
the log-books of his predecessors, he may expect to find himself most
wofully embarrassed, both on entering and on leaving the Trades.
Independently of all such public objects concerned in these inquiries,
there appears to exist a very general interest in the Trade-winds,
sufficiently strong to engage the attention even of unprofessional
persons. These vast currents of air, which sweep round and round the
globe, in huge strips of more than twelve hundred miles in width, are
in a manner forced on every one's notice, from contributing to that
boundless interchange of the productions of distant regions by which
modern times are so agreeably distinguished from the old.
The great Monsoons, again, of the Indian and China oceans play almost
as important a part in this grand nautical drama along the coasts of
those remote countries. These great phenomena will be found to obey
precisely the same laws as their less fluctuating brethren the mighty
Trades; and hence springs one of the chief delights of science when
its study is conducted in a proper spirit. If the pursuit of truth be
engaged in with sincerity, phenomena apparently the most opposite in
character, for example, winds in different parts of the earth, but in
the same latitude, blowing in totally different directions at the same
season of the year, will always prove in the end illustrative of one
another, and of their common theory.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] On the renewal of their Charter, in 1833, the East India Company
ceased to be traders, and these noble ships no longer sail under the
Company's flag.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TRADE WINDS.
There are few things more curious in the history of human knowledge
than the establishment of extensive errors as to matters of fact, and
the perverse tenacity with which they retain their hold on the public
mind. In some cases it would almost seem that the pleasure which
springs from genuine philosophical inquiry is subordinate to that
which arises from the indolent process of taking things for granted.
This applies peculiarly to the phenomena of the Trade-winds,
respecting which many erroneous ideas are generally entertained. To
professional men these fallacies are calculated to prove extremely
mischievous; while even to persons not directly connected with the
sea, the existence of error may often be injurious: and, although it
is not very easy to explain these things in a popular way, I shall
attempt to give a description of the facts as they really exist.
The main characteristics may easily be described.
The great belt of the earth's surface, nearly three thousand miles in
width, lying between the tropics (from 23-1/2° north to 23-1/2° south
latitude), is the chief region of the Trade-winds; though in some
parts of the world they extend to the latitude of 28° both north and
south of the equator; while at other places well within the tropics,
and even close to the line, totally different winds prevail. It is
only in the open parts of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans that the
true Trade-winds blow. In the Indian and China seas, and in many other
portions of the great tropical belt, periodical winds, called
Monsoons, are found. These shifting Trades exact the closest study
from the practical navigator, in consequence of their extensive
variety and seeming complication. But they are not less deserving the
attention of merely curious inquirers, from the beautiful manner in
which these modifications of the regular breezes obey the same general
laws which direct the grand phenomena of the Trades. Indeed, the most
extensive observation serves only to link the whole into one
harmonious chain or series of explanations, exhibiting the uniformity
as well as the exquisite adaptability of Nature, even in those
departments called "inconstant," where she is supposed to be most
capricious.
The only general assertion that can safely be made with respect to the
Trade-winds is, that they blow more or less from the eastern half of
the compass towards the western. On the north side of the equator, the
north-east Trade-winds blow; and on the south side, the south-east
Trade-winds. These two names have undoubtedly contributed to mystify
the subject by naturally suggesting to the imagination currents of air
blowing respectively from the north-east and the south-east, or at an
angle of 45° with the meridian. And I have even seen sailors (old
sailors too) quite surprised, and rather provoked, when they have
encountered very different winds in those parts of their voyage,
where, being misled by the force of names alone, they had taught
themselves to expect a regular breeze from a particular quarter. But,
in point of fact, the Trade-winds do very seldom blow directly from
north-east and south-east; neither are they uniform in their direction
on the same spot at different seasons of the year, nor is their
strength uniform from month to month. I may add, that the equatorial
limits, or bounding lines, of the trades, are not steadily confined to
the same latitude. In short, so far from these winds being perfectly
fixed in direction, force, and position, they are subject to very
considerable mutations, dependent on the position of the sun. Their
vast nautical value, in fact, as well as philosophical curiosity,
turns mainly on their uniformity, which, in spite of all the
fluctuations alluded to, gives them a very distinctive character.
Dr. Young and Hadley, the great authorities on the subject, are both
wrong in their conclusions.[3] Where Hadley obtains his "experience"
he does not tell; but certain it is, that no sailor who ever crossed
the equinoctial line could possibly have furnished him with two of his
principal statements. The Trades are not strongest near the equator,
as he states, nor when they reach that district do they blow along it,
or in a parallel direction, but almost always at right angles to it.
If the earth had no motion on its axis, but were surrounded as at
present with an atmosphere, and if the sun moved round and round it
exactly above the equator, without varying his declination, the
following effects would ensue: That portion of the earth lying, say
thirty degrees, on each side of the equator, being more exposed to the
action of the sun than those further from it, would become much
warmer; while the superincumbent air, being greatly heated by the
contact, would expand, or become specifically lighter, and would
consequently rise. The adjacent air, both on the north and south,
being cooler, and, of course, heavier, would rush in to supply the
place of the heated air. This air coming from the regions beyond the
tropics would, in its turn, be heated, and rise on reaching the warmer
equatorial regions, giving place to a fresh supply, which, it is easy
to see, must be furnished by the descent of that portion of air
formerly heated at the equator, raised into the cold regions of the
sky, and forced into a regular circuit by fresh elevations of heated
air. All these and many other interesting results are clearly
developed in Daniell's Meteorological Essays, a book which every one
at all interested in such inquiries will find it advantageous to
study. The first edition of this work was published in 1823, some
years after these speculations had been forced upon my notice by a
long course of service between the tropics.
It will be understood, that, as long as we imagine the globe at rest
while this circulation is going on, the course of the lower air along
the surface would be directly towards the equator, from due north in
one hemisphere, and from due south in the other; while in the upper
regions the currents would follow the opposite directions, and stream
towards the poles. But the instant we conceive the earth put into
rotatory motion from west to east, a change would take place in the
course of these aërial currents, both above and below. It must be
recollected that a volume of air, when once put in motion, will move
on, like any other body, by the mere force of its own momentum, till
that motion is destroyed by its friction against the substances along
or through which it is impelled. Any one who has observed the ring of
smoke sometimes projected from the mouth of a cannon will be sensible
that this is true.
It may likewise be of use, before going further, to consider, that, if
the globe, instead of being unequally heated; were equally heated at
all parts, from pole to pole, and being surrounded by an atmosphere,
were then made to revolve on its axis, it would carry the atmosphere
round with it exactly at the rate at which it was itself going. That
portion of the air in contact with the equator would move about 1000
miles in one hour, while that in latitude 90° would be as motionless
as the poles themselves.
From this it will be seen, that, while the equator moves at the rate
of 1000 miles an hour, the district about the latitude 30° moves only
860, or 140 miles slower. The average whirling velocity of the earth's
easterly motion, in the space between the equator and latitude 30°,
may be stated at 950 miles an hour; and that of the belt lying between
30° and 40°, at about 800 miles.
In the hypothetical case, above suggested, of the whole surface being
equally heated, and consequently the whole atmosphere at the same
temperature, there would be a universal calm, whatever might be the
rotatory motion impressed upon the earth. If, however, we next
suppose, what really is the case, that the air over the tropical
region is more heated than that which is farther from the equator,
this rarefied air will instantly ascend, and occupy a place above the
colder and denser air, which will flow in from the belts lying beyond
the tropics.
When the comparatively slow-moving air of the temperate zone, lying
beyond the tropics, first comes in contact with those quicker-moving
parts of the earth forming the tropical edges of the torrid zone, the
apparent motion of the air from the east, caused by the relative
difference of the rotatory velocity between the air and earth, is
great, compared to the other motion of the air, caused by its being
drawn directly towards the equator, to supply the place of the heated
portions raised into the sky. Consequently, at the tropical borders of
both Trades the wind is found to blow very nearly from the east point.
Since the cool air of the temperate and comparatively slow-moving
zones beyond the tropics is thus drawn towards the equator, and comes
successively in contact with parallels of latitude moving faster and
faster towards the east, there must be gradually imparted to it, by
the increased friction, a considerable degree of the increased
rotatory velocity belonging to the low latitudes it has now reached;
that is to say, there will be less and less difference of velocity
between the easterly motion of this temperate air and the easterly
motion of the earth; and, consequently, the wind, as it approaches the
equator, will appear to blow less and less directly from the
eastward. But, while the earth's rotation within the tropics is thus
acting on the slower-moving air which has travelled to it from beyond
the tropics, with increased friction at every successive moment, there
has been no such powerful counteracting influence in operation to
diminish the meridional motion impressed on the air in question; for,
although in proceeding from the tropics towards the equator, the wind
might, at first sight, be supposed to have its speed somewhat lessened
by friction along the earth's surface, the retardation due to this
cause, if there be any at all, must be inconsiderable, compared to
that which affects the motion caused by the difference in the rotatory
velocity of the earth at the different parallels. It must be
recollected, also, that there is a constant demand for fresh air from
the north and south, to occupy the place of the heated and rarefied
air which is raised up in the torrid zone; and this demand being
pretty equal, the motion it produces on the air in the direction of
the meridian must likewise be uniform.
If it be admitted that all the easterly character of the Trade-winds
is due to the difference of velocity between the rotation of the
torrid zone of the earth from west to east, and that of the air
impressed only with the slower rotatory motion to the east of the
temperate zone, it will follow, that, if this difference of velocities
between the earth and the air in contact with it be diminished or
annihilated, the easterly character of these winds will be diminished
or annihilated likewise. At the same time, there is no cause in
operation, that I can discover, to alter the direction of the
meridional motion, as it may be called, of the Trade-winds, or that
by which they are impelled directly towards the equator.
At first starting from the temperate zone, on its voyage to the
equator, the cold air of that slow-moving region is impressed with a
rotatory velocity of only 800 miles per hour to the eastward, but it
soon comes over parts of the earth moving more than 100 miles per hour
faster to the eastward than itself. The difference of velocity in the
earth's rotation between latitudes 30° and 20° is 74 miles an hour,
while between 20° and 10° it is only 45 miles, and in the next ten
degrees the difference in rate per hour is reduced to 15 miles.
The velocity with which the air drawn from beyond the tropics travels
along the sea towards the equator is probably not above twenty miles
an hour, a rate slow enough to allow time for the
constantly-increasing friction of the earth's rotation to act upon it,
and draw it more and more entirely to the east. By the time it has
reached the equatorial regions, the friction of the earth's surface
has operated long enough to carry the air completely along with it;
and, of course, all relative motion being done away with, everything
easterly in the character of the Trade-winds will be at an end.
But, although this constantly-increasing friction of the earth's
rotation has thus annihilated all relative easterly motion between the
air and earth, that air still retains its motion towards the equator;
and accordingly we do find the Trade-winds, at their equatorial
limits, blowing, not from the east, as Hadley, Dr. Young, and others,
conceived, but directly from the north and from the south
respectively. The strength and velocity of the Trades at these places
is, in general, considerably diminished, chiefly, perhaps, by the air
becoming heated, and rising up rather than flowing along; and also, no
doubt, by the meeting of the two opposite currents of air--one from
the north, the other from the south--which produces the intermediate
space called the Calms, or the Variables.
In strict conformity with these theoretical views, the clouds above
the Trades are almost invariably observed to proceed in the contrary
direction to the winds below. On the top of the Peak of Teneriffe I
found a gentle breeze blowing from the south-westward, directly
opposite to the course of the Trade-wind.
The more detailed circumstances usually met with in that part of a
voyage to India which lies between 30° north and 30° south, and which
I am about to describe, will now, I imagine, be readily understood.
Before setting out, however, I must strongly recommend any one wishing
to see these matters clearly, to have them fixed in his mind to useful
purpose, to follow both the theoretical and the practical parts of
this explanation with the assistance of a terrestrial globe.
Most ships touch at Madeira, either to take in a stock of wine, to get
fruit and vegetables, or to form a pleasant break in the early and
most disagreeable part of the voyage. Some ships pass barely in sight
of the high mountain which rises above the town of Funchal, and
satisfy themselves with taking sights for verifying the rates of their
chronometers when on the meridian of the island; while others
tantalise their passengers still more by sweeping through the roads,
without anchoring, or communicating with the shore. The captains by
such ships are pretty deeply, if not very loudly, abused by all hands,
passengers especially, who are perhaps the most dissatisfied, because
the most idle, of mortals. Shortly after leaving Madeira, which is in
32-1/2° north latitude, a ship may expect to meet the Trades; but she
cannot calculate with any certainty upon catching them till she
arrives at the parallel of 28°. On first reaching the Trade-wind it
will be found to blow very nearly from due east, and with this a
course is easily steered past or amongst the Canaries, and thence for
the Cape de Verdes. Some navigators pass within this group, others
keep so far out as barely to make San Antonio; and this, I think, is
considered the best route. As the ship proceeds to the southward, the
wind draws gradually round from the east to north-east, and eventually
to north-north-east, and even to north, at the southern margin of the
north-east Trade-wind.
The position of this margin or southern edge, which in technical
language is called the equatorial limit of the Trade, varies
considerably with the season of the year. From December to May
inclusive it frequently reaches as far as the 3rd degree of north
latitude, though it ranges about 5° and 6° north. From June to
November it is shifted back as far, sometimes, as 13° north, but it
seldom extends as far south as 8° north. Subjects which are treated of
in a series of tables showing the equatorial limits of both
Trade-winds, deduced by the late Captain James Horsburgh, hydrographer
of the East India Company, from the observations of 238 ships. These
tables show very clearly the effect of the absence or presence of the
sun in shifting the limits of the Trades, drawing them after him, as
it were. The presence of the sun in either hemisphere obstructs
considerably the regularity and strength of the Trade-winds in that
hemisphere, and _vice versâ_.
The great difficulty experienced in making the outward-bound voyage
commences after the ship has been deserted by the north-east Trade,
for she has then to fight her way to the southward across the region
of Calms and Variables. But as these Variables blow generally from the
southward and westward, from a cause afterwards to be explained, it is
obvious enough why this part of the homeward voyage is always more
easily made than the outward passage. These southerly breezes, which
are met with in the Variables, blow at times with considerable force,
and greatly perplex the young navigator, who, trusting perhaps to some
of the erroneous published accounts, not unnaturally reckons upon
meeting the regular Trade-wind, blowing, as he supposes, from the east
near the equator, not from the south; still less is he prepared or
pleased to find it blowing from the south-westward.
This troublesome range, intervening between the two Trades, varies in
width from 150 to more than 500 miles. It is widest in September, and
narrowest in December or January. I now speak more particularly of
what happens in the Atlantic. In the wide Pacific, far from land,
fewer modifying circumstances interfere with the regular course of the
phenomena, than in the comparatively narrow sea formed by the opposite
shoulders of Africa and South America.
Calms, also, are met with in this intermediate region, or purgatory of
the outward-bound voyage, and occasionally violent tornados or
squalls, which in a moment tear away every rag of canvas from a ship's
yards. For several hours at a time, also, rain falls down in absolute
torrents. Even when the weather clears up, and a fresh breeze comes,
it is generally from the southward, directly in the outward-bound
navigator's teeth. He must have patience, however, and strive to make
the most of it by keeping on that tack by which most southing is to be
gained. It is now, I believe, generally held to be the best practice
to place the ship between 18° and 23° of west longitude on losing the
north-east Trade; and likewise to endeavour, if possible, to cross the
equator somewhere between these two longitudes. Before reaching the
line, however, the navigator will almost always be met by the
south-east Trade-wind. From January to May he may expect to meet it in
1° or 2° north latitude; but in summer and autumn he will find the
northern or equatorial limit of the south-east Trade a degree or two
still further to the northwards of the lines.
On first encountering the south-east Trade an outward-bound ship is
obliged to steer much more to the westward than she wishes to do, in
consequence of the wind blowing so directly towards the equator, and
not along it, as some of the books will insist on, in spite of Nature.
So that if she be a dull sailer she may have some difficulty in
weathering the coast of Brazil about Cape St. Roque. As she proceeds
onwards, however, and makes a little more southing, the wind will haul
more and more round from the south to the south-east, then
east-south-east, and eventually to east at the southern limit of the
Trade-wind. An inexperienced sailor, on first entering the south-east
Trade, is very apt to be too solicitous about making southing, and
hugs the wind much too close; whereas he ought rather to keep his ship
off a little, give her a fathom or two of the fore and main sheets,
and take a small pull of the weather topsail and top-gallant braces,
to ensure making good way through the water. Indeed, many officers go
so far as to recommend flanking across the south-east Trade with a
fore-topmast studding-sail set. Although, I think, there can be no
doubt of the soundness of this advice, I confess that it does require
no inconsiderable degree of faith to adopt a course, which,
apparently, takes the ship not directly away from her object, but very
much out of the straight road. In this respect, it may be remarked
that the scale of navigation on every Indian voyage is so great, and
the importance of getting into those parallels where favourable
breezes are certain to be met with, of so much more consequence than
the gain of mere distance, that two or three hundred miles to the
right or left, or even twice that space, is often not to be regarded.
Accordingly, in cutting or flanking across the south-east Trade-wind,
the object, it should be remembered, is not to shorten the distance,
but to reach those latitudes where strong westerly gales are to be met
with, by help of which five hundred or a thousand miles of lost
distance are speedily made up, and the rest of the passage secured.
In those regions lying beyond the southern tropic westerly winds
prevail during the greater part of the year, exactly as we find on
this side of the northern tropic. In the southern hemisphere, and far
from the land, the wind may be said to blow from the westward almost
as steadily as the Trades do from the eastward. The great object,
therefore, for an outward-bound ship is to get far enough south to
ensure this fair wind. Beyond the latitude of 30°, and as far as 40°,
this purpose will generally be answered.
We are sufficiently familiar in England with the fact of westerly
winds prevailing in the Atlantic. From a list of the passages made by
the New York sailing packets across the Atlantic, during a period of
six years, it is shown that the average length of the voyage from
Liverpool to America, that is, towards the west, was forty days; while
the average length of the homeward passage, or that from west to east,
was only twenty-three days. And it may fix these facts more strongly
in the recollection, to mention that the passage-money from England to
America (in the days of sailing packets) was five guineas more than
that paid on the return voyage.
This prevalence of westerly winds beyond the tropics is readily
explained by the same reasoning which has been applied to the Trades
blowing within them. The swift moving air of the torrid zone, on being
rarefied and raised up, flows along towards the poles, and in a
direction from the equator, above the cooler and slower-moving air,
which, as I have already described, is drawn along the surface of the
earth from the temperate regions beyond the tropics. When the rarefied
equatorial air has travelled some thirty or forty degrees of latitude
along the upper regions of the atmosphere towards the poles it becomes
cooled, and is ready to descend again, between the latitudes of 30°
and 60°, to supply the place of the lower air, drawn off towards the
equator by the Trade-winds. But this partially-cooled air falls on a
part of the earth's surface which is moving much more slowly towards
the east, in its diurnal rotation, than the air which has descended
upon it, and which is still impressed with a great proportion of its
eastern velocity due to the equatorial parallels of latitude, where it
was heated and raised up. The necessary consequence of this is, to
produce a rapid motion in the air from the west over the earth's
surface; and this, combined with the other motion of the same portion
of air, or that which has driven it from the equatorial regions,
produces this remarkable prevalence of south-westerly winds in the
northern hemisphere, and north-westerly winds in the southern
hemisphere, in those districts lying between the latitudes of 30° and
60°.
In all that has been said above it has been assumed that the
quickest-moving or equatorial belt of the earth is also the hottest,
and consequently that over which the air has the greatest tendency to
rise. But, although this is generally true, it is not, by any means,
universally so. The variations, however, which are observed to occur
in those places where the circumstances form an exception to the
general rule, tend strongly to confirm the theory of Hadley. The
monsoons of India, as I shall presently show, are examples of this;
but the most striking instance with which I am personally acquainted
occurs in the Pacific Ocean, between the Bay of Panama and the
Peninsula of California, from latitude 8° to 22° north. If the huge
continent of Mexico were taken away, and only sea left in its place,
there can be no doubt but the ordinary phenomena of the Trade-winds
would be observable in that part of the Pacific above mentioned. Cool
air would then be drawn from the slow moving parallels lying to the
northward, towards the swift moving latitudes, near the equator, in
order to supply the place of the rarefied air removed to the higher
regions of the atmosphere, and, of course, north-easterly breezes
would be produced. But when the sun comes over Mexico, that vast
district of country is made to act the part of an enormous heater, and
becomes a far more powerful cause of rarefaction to the superincumbent
air than the ocean which lies between it and the equator. Accordingly,
the air over Mexico, between the latitudes of 10° and 30°, is more
heated than that which lies over the sea between the line and latitude
20°; and as the coolest, or least heated, that is, the most dense
fluid, always rushes towards the place lately occupied by the hottest
and most buoyant, the air from the equator will be drawn towards the
coast of Mexico, the great local source of heat and rarefaction.
But as this equatorial air is of course impressed with a more rapid
eastern velocity than those parts of the earth which form the southern
shores of Mexico, a westerly wind must be produced by the relative
difference in these two motions. At that particular season of the year
when the sun is in high southern declination, Mexico is not exposed to
his perpendicular rays. The equatorial regions are then more heated
than Mexico, and accordingly we actually find north-easterly breezes
nearly as they would be if Mexico were out of the way, and quite in
accordance with our theory.
In like manner, in the Atlantic, when the sun is far to the north,
the great deserts of the western angle, or shoulder of Africa, become
as vehemently heated, or more so, perhaps, than Mexico, and this draws
the air from the equator, so as to produce the south-westerly winds I
have already spoken of in the troublesome range called the Variables.
Finally, the great monsoons of the Indian ocean and China sea
contribute to establish this theory of Hadley, though I am not aware
that he ever brought it to bear on these very interesting phenomena.
They are eminently deserving of such notice, however, from being
periodical Trade-winds of the highest order of utility in one of the
busiest commercial regions of the world. Their periodical or shifting
character is the circumstance upon which their extensive utility in a
great measure depends, amongst nations where the complicated science
of navigation is but in a rude state. Myriads of vessels sail from
their homes during one monsoon before the wind, or so nearly before
it, that there is no great skill required in reaching all the ports at
which they wish to touch; and when the wind shifts to the opposite
quarter, they steer back again, in like manner, with a flowing sheet.
Thus, with an exceedingly small portion of nautical skill, they
contrive to make their passages by means of what we blue-jackets call
"a soldier's wind, there and back again." It will sometimes happen
that these rude navigators miscalculate their time, or meet with
accidents to retard them till the period of change has gone past, and
then they have no resource but to wait for half-a-year till the
monsoon shifts.
Experienced sailors, in like circumstances, acquainted with the
varieties of winds prevailing in those seas, would speedily get their
vessels out of this scrape, into which the lubberly Chinese junks
sometimes fall. They might, and certainly would, lose time in making a
roundabout of some two or three hundred miles in searching for a wind;
but, if they really knew what they were about, they would be sure to
catch it at last, and to turn it to their purpose.
From April to October, when the sun's rays fall with greatest effect
on Arabia, India, and China, and the several interjacent seas to which
these immense countries give their name, the air in contact with them,
becoming heated, rises, and gives place to fresh supplies drawn from
the equator. But this equatorial mass of air has had imparted to it by
the earth's rotation a greater degree of velocity in the direction
from west to east than belongs to the countries and seas just
mentioned; and this additional velocity, combined with its motion from
the equator, in rushing to fill up the vacuum caused by the
rarefaction of the air over those regions intersected by the tropic,
causes the south-west monsoon. "This wind," says Horsburgh, "prevails
from April to October, between the equator and the tropic of Cancer,
and it reaches from the east coast of Africa to the coasts of India,
China, and the Philippine Islands; its influence extends sometimes
into the Pacific Ocean as far as the Marian Islands, on to longitude
about 145° east, and it reaches as far north as the Japan Islands."
The late Captain Horsburgh thus describes what takes place in the
winter months:--"The north-east monsoon," he says, "prevails from
October to May, throughout nearly the same space that the south-west
monsoon prevails in the opposite season mentioned above. But the
monsoons are subject to great obstructions by land; and in contracted
places, such as Malacca Strait, they are changed into variable winds.
Their limits are not everywhere the same, nor do they always shift
exactly at the same period."
During this last named period, when the north-east monsoon is blowing,
viz. from October to May, the sun is acting with its greatest energy
on the regions about the equator, and the seas lying between it and
the southern tropic, while the countries formerly mentioned (Arabia,
India, and China), lying under the northern tropic, become
comparatively cool. The air over these regions becomes relatively more
dense than the rarefied air near the line; consequently the cool air
rushes to the southward to interchange places with that which has been
heated; and as the cool air comes from slower-moving to quicker-moving
parallels of latitude, that is, from the tropical to the equatorial
regions, the north-easterly monsoon is produced, very much resembling
in its effect, as it strictly does in its cause, the ordinary
trade-wind of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.
This is a very general view of what may be called the great monsoons
of India; but there are many variations in different places, all of
which are so readily explained by the foregoing theory, that they form
by no means the least interesting branch of the subject, or the least
satisfactory of its illustrations.
One of the most extensive of these varieties, though of a less general
and sweeping character than those which blow in the Arabian sea and
bay of Bengal, is found in a very remote part of the world. "From
October to April this north-west monsoon prevails between the
north-east part of Madagascar and the west coast of New Holland; and
it is generally confined between the equator and 10° or 11° south
latitude, but subject to irregularities." This westerly wind is
evidently produced by the air drawn actually from the equator towards
the slower moving latitudes of the earth, by the rarefaction of the
air to the southward when the sun is near the tropic of Capricorn.
"The south-east monsoon predominates from April to October in the
space last mentioned, and in some places reaches to the equator." In
this case, the slow moving air near the southern tropic is brought, as
in the ordinary case of the south-east Trade wind, to the quick-moving
parts of the earth's surface.
The following remark of Horsburgh's, in describing the monsoons, is
extremely valuable, and assists to explain Hadley's theory of these
matters:--"The parts where the north-west and the south-east monsoons
prevail with greatest strength and regularity are in the Java sea, and
from thence eastward to Timor, amongst the Molucca and Banda islands,
and onward to New Guinea;" for it will be obvious to any one who
inspects the globe, on reading this passage, that there occurs in the
neighbourhood of the spots alluded to a powerful cause for the
strength and regularity of the monsoons. The enormous island, or
continent, as it might almost be called, of Australia, may well be
supposed to act the part of a heater from October to April, when the
sun is so nearly over it. During that period the equatorial air is
drawn to the south, along the intermediate seas, amongst the Moluccas
and other Spice islands, so as to produce a strong and steady
north-westerly monsoon. Of course, the opposite effect will be
produced when the sun retreats to the north, and leaves Australia to
cool.
These instances are quite enough, I should imagine, to satisfy
ordinary curiosity on this point; but professional men ought not to be
contented till they have investigated all branches of this important
topic; including that elegant and very useful episode, the land and
sea breezes of all hot climates, and Horsburgh's East India Directory,
which I have quoted above so frequently, is by far the best authority
with which I am acquainted on these subjects. At the same time, I must
not omit to do justice to a beautifully-written and accurate Essay on
Winds and Currents, by that Prince of all Voyagers, Old Dampier; who,
with means far more circumscribed than most of his successors, has
contrived to arrange and condense his information in such a way as not
only to render it available to practical men, but to make it
intelligible and interesting to every class of readers.[4]
FOOTNOTES:
[3] It is necessary to note here that these questions have been
examined since Captain Hall wrote, by Commander Maury, late secretary
to the American navy, in the true analytical spirit, and immense
progress made in our knowledge of these winds by the mass of practical
observations on the subject made by practical navigators, and
published under his directions.--ED.
[4] The principle of "Great Circle Sailing," which now guides the
navigator to the Indian Ocean, must be studied in connection with this
chapter. "For every degree the ship changes her longitude south of the
Line she sails a shorter distance along the great circle than on any
other curve; for on the parallel of 60° thirty miles corresponds to a
distance of sixty at the equator."--ROBERTSON'S _Theory of Great
Circle Sailing_: Bell and Daldy.
CHAPTER VII.
PROGRESS OF THE VOYAGE.
Let people say what they please of the fine bracing weather of a cold
climate, I have never seen any truth-speaking persons who, on coming
fairly to the trial, did not complain of a cold frosty morning as a
very great nuisance, or who did not cling eagerly to the fire to
unbrace themselves again. For my own part, I have always delighted in
the relaxation caused by hot weather; and, accordingly, I have very
seldom, if ever, felt the weather disagreeably warm, even in India,
especially when sailing on the open sea, or enjoying the free range of
a wide country, under awnings and bungaloes, or stretched in a
palanquin, or shaded by an umbrella on the back of an elephant.
Soldiers and sailors, whose duty exposes them at all hours, either on
a march or in boats, are often struck down by the heat, and sigh with
all their hearts for the bracing frosts of higher latitudes. But those
who have the means of bringing to bear on their comforts the
innumerable contrivances which the ingenuity of wealth has devised in
the East, indeed, make its climate not only bearable, but one of the
most enjoyable in the world.
As we sailed along on our voyage to India, gradually slipping down
from the high to the low latitudes, the sun crept up higher and higher
every day towards the zenith, while the thermometer, of course, rose
likewise. What was most agreeable in this change from cold to warmth
was the little difference between the temperature of the day and that
of the night. As we approached the equator, the thermometer fell only
from 82° in the day-time to 79° or 80° at night, which, on deck, was
delightful. We did not, of course, come to this high temperature all
at once; for on the 6th of May, the day after we passed directly under
the sun, the average of the twenty-four hours was 73°, and at night
69° and 70°.
It is not to be imagined that everyone was pleased with these changes;
for on board ship, as on shore, there exist discontented spirits,
whose acquired habit it is to find fault with the existing state of
things, be these what they may. To such cantankerous folks a growl of
misery would really seem to be the great paradoxical happiness of
their lives, and, in the absence of real hardship, it is part of your
thorough-bred growler to prophesy. I have seen a middy of this stamp
glad to find, on coming below, that some insignificant portion of his
dinner really had been devoured by his hungry messmates, while he
himself was keeping his watch on deck.
"I am used worse than a dog!" he would cry, secretly delighted to have
gained the luxury of a grievance, "I can't even get a basin of
pease-soup put by for me; it's an infernal shame, I'll cut the
service!"
The diversity of climate on an Indian voyage furnishes capital nuts
for these perturbed spirits. It is first too cold, then too hot; then
there is not wind enough; then it blows too fresh in the squalls:
by-and-bye the nights are discovered to be abominably close and
sultry, and in the day the fierce flaming downright heat of the sun is
still worse; then the calms are never to be over; or the lying trades,
as they call them, have got capsized, and blow from the west instead
of the east! After the line has been crossed, and the south-east wind
is met with, the weather soon becomes what these ingenious fellows
call too temperate, then it grows too cold again; and next off the
Cape the latitude is too stormy. In this alone they have some reason;
and I have often regretted that, by a royal ordinance of the King of
Portugal, the name of this mighty promontory was changed from Cabo de
Tormentos, the headland of storms, to its present spoony title. In
short, this grand voyage is merely a peristrephic panorama of
miseries, which if they survive, say they, it will be happy for
them.--Happy! Not a whit. It is out of their nature to be happy. To
find fault, to fling away the good the gods provide them, and to
aggravate the pain of every real wound by the impatience of idle
complaints, is their diseased joy. "Evil, be thou my good!" they might
well exclaim; for, instead of heightening the pleasures of life by
full participation, or subduing its inevitable evils, or, at all
events, softening their asperity by enduring with fortitude and
cheerfulness what cannot be helped, these self-tormentors reject what
is substantially pleasing, and cling with habitual but morbid relish
to whatever is disagreeable.
As we glided along, through the Trade-winds, towards the neck of sea
which divides Africa from South America, the symptoms of a change in
climate became daily more manifest. Every skylight and stern window
was thrown wide open, and every cabin scuttle driven out, that a free
draught of air might sweep through the ship all night long. In the
day-time, the pitch in the seams of the upper-deck began to melt, and,
by sticking to the soles of our shoes, plastered the planks, to the
great discomfiture of the captain of the after-guard. The tar, oozing
from the cordage aloft, dropped on our heads, speckled the snow white
boat covers, and obliged us to spread the hammock-cloths, to prevent
the bedding being ruined by the spots. On the larboard or eastern side
of the ship, which, of course, is always presented to the sun when
crossing the Trades on the outward-bound voyage, the pitch and rosin
with which the seams had been payed ran down in little streams across
the lines of paint. To prevent, as far as we could, some of these
annoyances, we spread the awnings over the decks, and triced up the
curtains, fore and aft, while every art was used to introduce air to
all parts of the ship. The half-ports were removed from the main-deck
guns, the gratings put on one side, and as many windsails sent down
the hatchways as could be made to catch a puff of air. Blue trousers
and beaver scrapers soon gave way before the elements, and were
succeeded by nankeens, straw hats, and canvas caps. In the captain's
cabin, where the presence of the governor, our passenger, still kept
up the strait-laced etiquette of the service, coats and epaulettes
appeared at dinner; but in the gun-room, the officers, the instant
they came below, slipped on their light white jackets, and, disdaining
waistcoat, seized their flutes and books, and drew their chairs as
near as possible to the mouth of the windsail. In the midshipmen's
berth, outside in the steerage, the shirt without neckcloth or stock,
and sometimes with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows, was the most
fashionable rig. The seamen and marines, of course, dined on the
main-deck, not only that they might enjoy the fresh air breathing
gently in upon them through the ports on the weather side, and
sweeping out again by those to leeward, but that the lower deck might
be kept as cool and airy as possible against the sultry feverish night
season.
On such occasions the men leave their tables and stools below, and
either seat themselves tailor-fashion, or recline Roman-fashion. Nor
is this in the least degree unpleasant; for the deck of a man-of-war
is made as clean every morning as any table, and is kept so during the
day by being swept at least once an hour. Of all the tunes played by
the boatswain's pipe, that which calls the sweepers is the most
frequently heard. When the order is given for dining on deck, the
different messes into which the crew are divided occupy the spots
immediately above their usual mess-places below, as far as the guns
allow of their doing so. It has always struck me as very pleasing, to
see the main-deck covered, from the after hatchway to the cook's
coppers, with the people's messes, enjoying their noon-day repast;
while the celestial grog, with which their hard, dry, salt junk is
washed down, out-matches twenty-fold in Jack's estimation all the thin
potations of those who, in no very courteous language, are called
their betters.
Until we had crossed the North-east Trade, and reached the Calms, the
ship's way through the water was too great to allow of bathing
alongside; but we easily contrived a shower-bath, which answered very
well. This consisted of a packing-box, the bottom of which was
perforated with holes, triced up between two of the skids, near the
gangway, and under the quarter of one of the boats on the booms. A
couple of the top-men with draw-buckets supplied the water from above,
while the bather stood on the main-deck, enjoying the shower. The time
selected for this delightful bath was usually about four o'clock in
the morning, after the middle watch was out, and before the exhausted
officer tumbled into bed. A four hours' walk, indeed, in a sultry
night, be it managed ever so gently, has a tendency to produce a
degree of heat approaching to feverishness; and I have no words to
describe the luxury of standing under a cool shower when the long task
is ended. We were generally just enough fatigued to be sure of a
sound, light, happy sleep, and just enough heated to revel in the
coolest water that was to be had. In fact, we found that of the sea
much too warm, being only two or three degrees below the temperature
of the air. To remedy this, our plan was, to expose a dozen
buckets-full on the gangway at eight or nine o'clock in the evening;
and these, being allowed to stand till morning, became so much cooler
by the evaporation in the night, that the shock was unspeakably
grateful.
Perhaps there is not any more characteristic evidence of our being
within the tropical regions than the company of those picturesque
little animals, the flying-fish. It is true, that a stray one or two
may sometimes be met with far north, making a few short skips out of
the water, and I even remember seeing several close to the edge of the
banks of Newfoundland, in latitude 45°; but it is not until the
voyager has fairly reached the heart of the torrid zone that he sees
the flying-fish in perfection. I have hardly ever observed a person so
dull or unimaginative that his eye did not glisten as he watched a
shoal of flying-fish rise from the sea, and skim along for several
hundred yards. There is something in it so totally dissimilar to
everything else in other parts of the world, that our wonder goes on
increasing every time we see even a single one take its flight. The
incredulity of the old Scotch woman on this head is sufficiently
excusable. "You may hae seen rivers o' milk, and mountains o' sugar,"
said she to her son, returned from a voyage; "but you'll ne'er gar me
believe you have seen a fish that could flee!"
The pleasant Trade, which had wafted us with different degrees of
velocity, over a distance of more than a thousand miles, at last
gradually failed. The sails began to flap gently against the masts, so
gently, indeed, that we half hoped it was caused, not so much by the
diminished force of the breeze, with which we wore very unwilling to
part, as by that long and peculiar swell which,
"In the torrid clime
Dark heaving,"
is productive of oscillating motion on the ship; but the faint
zephyrs, which had coquetted with our languid sails for an hour or
two, at length took their leave, first of the courses, then of the
topsails, and lastly of the royals and the smaller flying kites
aloft. In vain we looked round and round the horizon for some traces
of a return of our old friend the Trade, but could distinguish nothing
save one polished, dark-heaving sheet of glass, reflecting the
unbroken disc of the sun, and the bright clear sky in the moving
mirror beneath. From the heat, which soon became intense, there was no
escape, either on deck or below, aloft in the tops, or still higher on
the cross-trees; neither could we find relief down in the hold; for it
was all the same, except that in the exposed situations we were
scorched or roasted, in the others suffocated. The useless helm was
lashed amidships, the yards were lowered on the cap, and the boats
were dropped into the water, to fill up the cracks and rents caused by
the fierce heat. The occasion was taken advantage of to shift some of
the sails, and to mend others; most of the running-ropes also were
turned end for end. A listless feeling stole over us all, and we lay
about the decks gasping for breath, seeking in vain some alleviation
to our thirst by drink! drink! drink! Alas, the transient indulgence
only made the matter worse!
Meanwhile, our convoy of huge China ships, rolling very slowly on the
top of the long, smooth, and scarcely perceptible ridges, or sinking
as gently between their summits, were scattered in all directions,
with their heads in different ways, some looking homeward again, and
some, as if by instinct, keeping still for the south. How it happens I
do not know, but on occasions of perfect calm, or such as appear to be
perfectly calm, the ships of a fleet generally drift away from one
another; so that, at the end of a few hours, the whole circle bounded
by the horizon is speckled over with these unmanageable hulks, as they
may for the time be considered. It will occasionally happen, indeed,
that two ships draw so near in a calm as to incur some risk of falling
on board one another. I need scarcely mention, that, even in the
smoothest water ever found in the open sea, two large ships coming
into actual contact must prove a formidable encounter. As long as they
are apart their gentle and rather graceful movements are fit subjects
of admiration; and I have often seen people gazing, for an hour at a
time, at the ships of a becalmed fleet, slowly twisting round,
changing their position, and rolling from side to side, as silently as
if they had been in harbour, or accompanied only by the faint,
rippling sound tripping along the water-line, as the copper below the
bends alternately sunk into the sea, or rose out of it, dripping wet,
and shining as bright and clean as a new coin, from the constant
friction of the ocean during the previous rapid passage across the
Trade-winds.
But all this picturesque admiration changes to alarm when ships come
so close as to risk a contact; for these motions, which appear so slow
and gentle to the eye, are irresistible in their force; and as the
chances are against the two vessels moving exactly in the same
direction at the same moment, they must speedily grind or tear one
another to pieces. Supposing them to come in contact side by side, the
first roll would probably tear away the fore and main channels of both
ships; the next roll, by interlacing the lower yards, and entangling
the spars of one ship with the shrouds and backstays of the other,
would in all likelihood bring down all three masts of both ships, not
piecemeal, as the poet hath it, but in one furious crash. Beneath the
ruins of the spars, the coils of rigging, and the enormous folds of
canvas, might lie crushed many of the best hands, who, from being
always the foremost to spring forward in such seasons of danger, are
surest to be sacrificed. After this first catastrophe, the ships would
probably drift away from one another for a little while, only to
tumble together again and again, till they had ground one another to
the water's edge, and one or both of them would fill and go down. In
such encounters it is impossible to stop the mischief, and oak and
iron break, and crumble in pieces, like sealing-wax and pie-crust.
Many instances of such accidents are on record, but I never witnessed
one.
To prevent these frightful _rencontres_ care is always taken to hoist
out the boats in good time, if need be, to tow the ships apart, or,
what is generally sufficient, to tow the ships' heads in opposite
directions. I scarcely know why this should have the effect, but
certainly it appears that, be the calm ever so complete, or dead, as
the term is, a vessel generally forges ahead, or steals along
imperceptibly in the direction she is looking to; possibly from the
conformation of the hull.
Shortly after the Trade-wind left us, a cloud rose in the south, which
soon filled the whole air, and discharged upon us the most furious
shower I ever beheld. The rain fell down in perpendicular lines of
drops, or spouts, without a breath of wind, unaccompanied by thunder
or any other noise, and in one great gush or splash, as if some
prodigious reservoir had been upset over the fleet from the edge of
the cloud.
Our noble commander, delighted with the opportunity of replenishing
his stock of water, called out, "Put shot on each side, and slack all
the stops down, so that the awnings may slope inwards. Get buckets and
empty casks to hand instantly!"
In a few minutes the awnings were half full of water, and a hole
connected with a hose having been prepared beforehand near the lowest
point, where the canvas was weighed down by the shot, a stream
descended as if a cock had been turned. Not a drop of this was lost;
but being carried off, it was poured into a starting-tub at the
hatchway, and so conveyed by a pipe to the casks in the hold. By the
time the squall was over we had filled six or eight butts; and
although not good to drink, from being contaminated by the tar from
the ropes and sails, the water answered admirably for washing, which
was our object in catching it.
Ever since the days of Captain Cook it has been the practice to allow
the crew two washing days per week, on the details of which proceeding
we all know the misery of putting on wet clothes, or sleeping in damp
sheets. Now, a shirt washed in salt water is really a great deal worse
than either; putting on linen washed in salt water, you first dry your
unhappy shirt by exposing it to the sun or the fire till it seems as
free from moisture as any bone; you then put it on, in hopes of
enjoying the benefit of clean linen. Alas, not a whit of enjoyment
follows! For if the air be in a humid state, or you are exposed to
exercise, the treacherous salt, which, when crystallised, has hidden
itself in the fibres of the cloth, speedily melts, and you have all
the tortures of being once more wrapped in moist drapery. In your
agony, you pull it off, run to the galley-range, and toast it over
again; or you hang it up in the fiery heat of the southern sun, and
when not a particle of wet seems to remain, you draw it on a second
time, fancying your job at last complete. But, miserable man that you
are! the insidious enemy still lurks there, and no art we yet know of
will expel him, save and except that of a good sound rinsing in fresh
water.
I need scarcely add, then, that there are few favours of the minor
kind which a considerate captain may bestow on his crew more
appreciated than giving them as much fresh water as will serve to
carry off the abominable salt from their clothes, after they have
first been well scoured in the water of the ocean; it is a great
comfort, and an officer of any activity, by a judicious management of
the ship's regular stock, and, above all, by losing no opportunity of
catching rain water, need seldom be without the means of giving to
each man of his crew a gallon twice a-week during the longest voyage.
It was from an old and excellent officer I first learned, that, by
proper and constant care, this indulgence might almost always be
granted. It is not easy, I freely admit, at all times, and in all
climates, to keep a supply Of washing-water on board. But a captain
ought to do what is right and kind, simply because it is right and
kind, regardless of trouble; and his conduct in this respect should
not be uninfluenced by the manner in which it is received; at all
events, he may be certain that if his favours be not well received,
the fault lies in his manner of giving them. Sailors have the most
acute penetration possible on these occasions; and if the captain be
actuated by any wish except that of doing his duty uniformly and
kindly, the Johnnies will see through it all, and either laugh at him
or hate him.
CHAPTER VIII.
AQUATIC SPORTS.
One day, after we had lost the north-east Trade wind, a furious
squall, unperceived till it reached us, swept through the fleet. These
violent tornadoes are generally called white squalls, from being
unattended by those black heavy rain clouds. On the occasion of
ordinary squalls, even with the advantage of the warning given by
rising clouds, it is not always easy to escape their force unhurt. If
the wind be fair, a natural reluctance is felt to shorten sail, at all
events, until the squall is so near that there is an absolute
necessity for doing so, and inexperienced officers are often deceived
by the unexpected velocity with which the gust comes down upon them.
Even the oldest sailors are apt to miscalculate the time likely to
elapse before the wind can touch them. In these cases, unless the men
be very active, the sails are torn, and sometimes a mast or a yard is
carried away. It is, besides, often doubtful whether there is wind or
merely a plump of rain in the squall; there are, therefore, few points
of distinction more remarkable between the seamanship of an old and a
young officer, than their power of judging of this matter. To a man
quite inexperienced, a squall may look in the highest degree
threatening; he will order the top-gallant clew-lines to be manned,
place hands by the topsail haulyards, and lay along the main
clew-garnets. His more experienced captain, however, being apprised of
the squall's approach, steps on deck, takes a hasty look to windward,
and says quietly to the officer of the watch, "Never mind, there's
nothing in it, it's only rain; keep the sails on her."
But although the older authority nine times in ten proves correct in
his judgment, even he might find it difficult, if not impossible, to
tell exactly upon what his confidence rested. Sailors boast, indeed,
of having an infallible test by which the point in question may be
ascertained, their secret being clothed in the following rhymes so to
call them:--
"If the rain's before the wind,
'Tis time to take the topsails in;
If the wind's before the rain,
Hoist your topsails up again."
The practical knowledge alluded to, however, comes not by rhymes, but
by experience alone, with a kind of intuitive confidence. Many long
and hard years of study, and myriads of forgotten trials must have
been gone through to give this enviable knowledge.
No experience, however, can altogether guard against these sudden
gusts or white squalls, since they make no show, except, sometimes, by
a rippling of the water along which they are sweeping. On the occasion
above alluded to there was not even this faint warning. The first
ships of the convoy touched by the blast were laid over almost on
their beam-ends, but in the next instant righted again, on the whole
of their sails being blown clean out of the bolt-ropes. The Theban
frigate and the Volage, then lying nearly in the centre of the fleet,
were the only ships which saved an inch of canvas, owing chiefly to
our having so many more hands on board, but partly to our having
caught sight of the ruin brought on the vessels near us, just in time
to let fly the sheets and haulyards and get the yards down. But even
then, with the utmost exertion of every man and boy on board, we
barely succeeded in clewing all up.
When this hurricane of a moment had passed, and we had time to look
round, not a rag was to be seen in the whole fleet; while the Wexford,
a ship near us, had lost her three top-gallant masts and jib-boom,
and, what was a much more serious misfortune, her fore-topmast was
dangling over the bows. Part of the fore-topsail was wrapped like a
shawl round the lee cat-head, while the rest hung down in festoons
from the collar of the fore-stay to the spritsail yard-arm. A stout
party of seamen from each of the men-of-war were sent to assist in
clearing the wreck, and getting up fresh spars; and a light fair wind
having succeeded to the calm in which we had been lolling about for
many days, we took our wounded bird in tow, and made all sail towards
the equator. By this time, also, the China ships had bent a new set of
sails, and were resuming their old stations in the appointed order of
bearing, which it was our policy to keep up strictly, together with as
many other of the formalities of a fleet in line of battle and on a
cruise as we could possibly maintain.
While we were thus stealing along pleasantly enough under the genial
influence of this newly-found air, which as yet was confined to the
upper sails, and every one was looking open-mouthed to the eastward to
catch a gulp of cool air, or was congratulating his neighbour on
getting rid of the tiresome calm in which we had been so long
half-roasted, half-suffocated, about a dozen flying-fish rose out of
the water, just under the fore-chains, and skimmed away to windward at
the height of ten or twelve feet above the surface. But sometimes the
flying-fish merely skims the surface, so as to touch the tops of the
successive waves, without rising and falling to follow the undulations
of the sea; that they also rise as high as twenty feet out of the
water is certain, being sometimes found in the channels of a
line-of-battle ship; and they frequently fly into a 74 gun-ship's
main-deck ports. On a frigate's forecastle and gangways, also
elevations which may be taken at eighteen or twenty feet, they are
often found. I remember seeing one, about nine inches in length, and
weighing not less, I should suppose, than half-a-pound, skim into the
Volage's main-deck port just abreast of the gangway. One of the
main-topmen was coming up the quarter-deck ladder at the moment, when
the flying-fish, entering the port, struck the astonished mariner on
the temple, knocked him off the step, and very nearly laid him
sprawling.
I was once in a prize, a low Spanish schooner, not above two feet and
a-half out of the water, when we used to pick up flying-fish enough
about the decks in the morning to give us a capital breakfast. They
are not unlike whitings to the taste, though rather firmer, and very
dry. They form, I am told, a considerable article of food for the
negroes in the harbours of the West Indies. The method of catching
them at night is thus described:--In the middle of the canoe a light
is placed on the top of a pole, towards which object it is believed
these fish always dart, while on both sides of the canoe a net is
spread to a considerable distance, supported by out-riggers above the
surface of the water; the fish dash at the light, pass it, and fall
into the net on the other side.
Shortly after observing the cluster of flying-fish rise out of the
water, we discovered two or three dolphins ranging past the ship, in
all their beauty, and watched with some anxiety to see one of those
aquatic chases of which our friends of the Indiamen had been telling
us such wonderful stories. We had not long to wait; for the ship, in
her progress through the water, soon put up another shoal of these
little things, which, as the others had done, took their flight
directly to windward. A large dolphin, which had been keeping company
with us abreast of the weather gangway at the depth of two or three
fathoms, and, as usual, glistening most beautifully in the sun, no
sooner detected our poor dear little friends take wing, than he turned
his head towards them, and, darting to the surface, leaped from the
water with a velocity little short, as it seemed, of a cannon-ball.
But although the impetus with which he shot himself into the air gave
him an initial velocity greatly exceeding that of the flying-fish, the
start which his fated prey had got enabled them to keep ahead of him
for a considerable time.
The length of the dolphin's first spring could not be less than ten
yards; and after he fell we could see him gliding like lightning
through the water for a moment, when he again rose, and shot forwards
with considerably greater velocity than at first, and, of course, to a
still greater distance. In this manner the merciless pursuer seemed to
stride along the sea with fearful rapidity, while his brilliant coat
sparkled and flashed in the sun quite splendidly. As he fell headlong
on the water at the end of each huge leap, a series of circles were
sent far over the still surface, which lay as smooth as a mirror; for
the breeze, although enough to keep the royals and top-gallant
studding sails extended, was hardly as yet felt below.
The group of wretched flying-fish, thus hotly pursued, at length
dropped into the sea; but we were rejoiced to observe that they merely
touched the top of the swell, and scarcely sunk in it, at least they
instantly set off again in a fresh and even more vigorous flight. It
was particularly interesting to observe that the direction they now
took was quite different from the one in which they had set out,
implying but too obviously that they had detected their fierce enemy,
who was following them with giant steps along the waves, and now
gaining rapidly upon them. His terrific pace, indeed, was two or three
times as swift as theirs, poor little things! and the greedy dolphin
was fully as quick-sighted as the flying-fish which were trying to
elude him; for whenever they varied their flight in the smallest
degree, he lost not the tenth part of a second in shaping a new
course, so as to cut off the chase; while they, in a manner really not
unlike that of the hare, doubled more than once upon their pursuer.
But it was soon too plainly to be seen that the strength and
confidence of the flying-fish were fast ebbing. Their flights became
shorter and shorter, and their course more fluttering and uncertain,
while the enormous leaps of the dolphin appeared to grow only more
vigorous at each bound. Eventually, indeed, we could see, or fancied
we could see, that this skilful sea sportsman arranged all his springs
with such an assurance of success, that he contrived to fall, at the
end of each, just under the very spot on which the exhausted
flying-fish were about to drop! Sometimes this catastrophe took place
at too great a distance for us to see from the deck exactly what
happened; but on our mounting high into the rigging, we may be said to
have been in at the death; for then we could discover that the
unfortunate little creatures, one after another, either popped right
into the dolphin's jaws as they lighted on the water, or were snapped
up instantly afterwards.
It was impossible not to take an active part with our pretty little
friends of the weaker side, and accordingly we very speedily had our
revenge. The middies and the sailors, delighted with the chance,
rigged out a dozen or twenty lines from the jib-boom end, and
spritsail yard-arms, with hooks baited merely with bits of tin, the
glitter of which resembles so much that of the body and wings of the
flying-fish, that many a proud dolphin, making sure of a delicious
morsel, leaped in rapture at the deceitful prize.
It may be well to mention that the dolphin of sailors is not the fish
so called by the ancient poets. Ours, which I learn from the
Encyclopædia, is the _Coryphoena hippurus_ of naturalists, is
totally different from their _Delphinus phocoena_, termed by us the
porpoise, respecting which there exists a popular belief amongst
seamen that the wind may be expected from the quarter to which a shoal
of porpoises are observed to steer. So far, however, from our
respecting the speculations of these submarine philosophers, every art
is used to drag them out of their native element, and to pass them
through the fire to the insatiable Molochs of the lower decks and
cockpits of his Majesty's ships, a race amongst whom the constant
supply of the best provisions appears to produce only an increase of
appetite.
One harpoon, at least, is always kept in readiness for action in the
fore part of the ship. The sharpest and strongest of these deadly
weapons is generally stopped or fastened to the fore-tack bumpkin, a
spar some ten or twelve feet long, projecting from the bows of a ship
on each side like the horns of a snail, to which the tack or lower
corner of the foresail is drawn down when the ship is on a wind. This
spar, which affords good footing, not being raised many feet above the
water, while it is clear of the bow, and very nearly over the spot
where the porpoises glide past, when shooting across the ship's
forefoot, is eagerly occupied by the most active and expert harpooner
on board, as soon as the report has been spread that a shoal, or, as
the sailors call it, a "school" of porpoises, are round the ship.
There is another favourite station which is speedily filled on these
occasions; I mean, alongside of the slight-looking apparatus
projecting perpendicularly downwards from the end of the bowsprit.
This spar is not inaptly called the dolphin-striker, from its
appearing to dash into the waves as the ship pitches; perhaps it may
have acquired its name on account of its being so capital a position
from which to strike that fish. The lower end of the spar is connected
with the outer end of the jib-boom, by means of a stout rope, which,
after passing through its extremity, extends to the ship; and it is
upon this guy that the fortunate wielder of the harpoon fixes himself.
The harpoon is a triangular, or rather a heart-shaped barbed weapon,
somewhat larger than a man's head, and in the centre about as thick as
his knuckles. Its point and edges are made of iron so soft that they
can easily be brought to a rough edge by means of a file. This
javelin-head, or, as it is technically called by whalers, the "mouth,"
is connected by a slender arm or shank, terminating in a socket. The
barbed head or mouth is eight inches long, and six broad; the shank,
with its socket, two feet and a-half long. The shank is not quite half
an inch in diameter; and as this part is liable to be forcibly
extended, twisted, and bent, it requires to be made of the toughest
and most pliable iron.
A piece of small, but stout line, called, I think, the foreganger, is
spliced securely to the shank of the harpoon. To the end of this line
is attached any small rope that lies handiest on the forecastle,
probably the top-gallant clew-line, or the jib down-haul. The rope,
before being made fast to the foreganger, is rove through a block
attached to some part of the bowsprit, or to the foremost swifter of
the fore-rigging; a gang of hands are always ready to take hold of the
end, and run the fish right out of the water when pierced by the iron.
The harpooner has nothing to attend to but the mere act of striking
his object; and there are few exploits in which the dexterity of one
person is more conspicuous over that of another than in delivering the
harpoon. I have heard Captain Scoresby say, that, when a whale is
struck, it is an object of importance to drive the weapon socket-deep
into the blubber, or outer rind, of the floating monster; but in the
case of the porpoise the true point of skill appears to lie in the aim
alone: for the mere weight of the instrument, with its loaded staff,
is sufficient to lodge the barbs in the body of the fish, and in many
cases to carry it right through to the other side.
The strength of the porpoise must be very great, for I have seen him
twist a whale harpoon several times round, and eventually tear himself
off by main force. On this account, it is of consequence to get the
floundering gentleman on board with the least possible delay after the
fish is struck. Accordingly, the harpooner, the instant he has made a
good hit, bawls out, "Haul away! haul away!" upon which the men
stationed at the line run away with it, and the struggling wretch is
raised high into the air. Two or three of the smartest hands have in
the mean time prepared what is called a running bowline knot, or
noose, the nature of which may be readily described by saying that
although it slips up, or renders, very easily, it is perfectly secure,
without being subject to jamming. This running bowline, of which
several are always previously made ready, is placed by hand round the
body of the porpoise, or it may be cast, like the lasso, over its
tail, and then, but not till then, can the capture be considered quite
secure. I have seen many a gallant prize of this kind fairly
transfixed with the harpoon, and rattled like a shot up to the block,
where it was hailed by the shouts of the victors as the source of a
certain feast, and yet lost after all, either by the line breaking, or
the dart coming out during the vehement struggles of the fish.
I remember once seeing a porpoise accidentally struck by a minor
description of fish-spear called a grains, a weapon quite inadequate
for such a service. The cord by which it was held, being much too
weak, soon broke, and off dashed the wounded fish, right in the wind's
eye, at a prodigious rate, with the staff erect on its back, like a
signal-post. The poor wretch was instantly accompanied, or pursued, by
myriads of his own species, whose instinct, it is said, teaches them
to follow any track of blood, and even to devour their unfortunate
fellow-fish. I rather doubt the fact of their cannibalism, but am
certain that, whenever a porpoise is struck and escapes, he is
followed by all the others, and the ship is deserted by the shoal in a
few seconds. In the instance just mentioned, the grains with which the
porpoise was struck had been got ready for spearing a dolphin; but the
man in whose hands it happened to be, not being an experienced
harpooneer, could not resist the opportunity of darting his weapon
into the first fish that offered a fair mark.
The dolphin, the bonito, and the albacore, are sometimes caught with
the grains, but generally by means of lines baited either with bits of
tin, or with pieces of the flying-fish, when any are to be had. In
fine weather, especially between the tropics, when the whole surface
of the sea is often covered with them, a dozen lines are hung from the
jib-boom end and spritsail yard, all so arranged, that when the ship
sends forward, the hook, with its glittering bait, barely touches the
water, but rises from it when the ship is raised up by the swell. The
grains, spoken of above, resembles nothing so much that I know of as
the trident which painters thrust into the hands of Daddy Neptune. If
my nautical recollections, however, serve me correctly, this spear has
five prongs, not three, and sometimes there are two sets, placed in
lines at right angles to one another. The upper end of the staff being
loaded with lead, it falls down and turns over the fish, which is then
drawn on board on the top of the grains, as a potato or a herring
might be presented on the point of a fork.
The dolphin is eaten and generally relished by every one, though
certainly a plaguy dry fish. It is often cut into slices and fried
like salmon, or boiled and soused in vinegar, to be eaten cold. The
bonito is a coarser fish, and only becomes tolerable eating by the
copious use of port-wine.
It happened in a ship I commanded that a porpoise was struck about
half-an-hour before the cabin dinner; and I gave directions, as a
matter of course, to my steward to dress a dish of steaks, cut well
clear of the thick coating of blubber. It so chanced that none of the
crew had ever before seen a fish of this kind taken, and in
consequence there arose doubts amongst them whether or not it was
good, or even safe eating. The word, however, being soon passed along
the decks that orders had been given for some slices of the porpoise
to be cooked for the captain's table, a deputation from forward was
appointed to proceed as near to the cabin door as the etiquette of the
service allowed, in order to establish the important fact of the
porpoise being eatable. The dish was carried in, its contents
speedily discussed, and a fresh supply having been sent for, the
steward was, of course, intercepted in his way to the cook. "I say,
Capewell," cried one of the hungry delegates, "did the captain really
eat any of the porpoise?"
"Eat it!" exclaimed the steward, "look at that!" at the same time
lifting off the cover, and showing a dish as well cleared as if it had
previously been freighted with veal cutlets, and was now on its return
from the midshipmen's berth.
"Ho! ho!" sung out Jack, running back to the forecastle; "if the
skipper eats porpoise, I don't see why we should be nice; so here
goes!" Then pulling forth the great clasp-knife which always hangs by
a cord round the neck of a seaman, he plunged it into the sides of the
fish, and, after separating the outside rind of blubber, detached
half-a-dozen pounds of the red meat, which, in texture and taste, and
in the heat of its blood, resembles beef, though very coarse. His
example was so speedily followed by the rest of the ship's company,
that when I walked forward, after dinner, in company with the doctor,
to take the post-mortem view of the porpoise more critically than
before, we found the whole had been broiled and eaten within
half-an-hour after I had unconsciously given, by my example, an
official sanction to the feast.
On the 24th of May, the day before crossing the equator, I saw the
grandest display of all these different kinds of fish which it has
ever been my fortune to meet with. In my journal, written on that day,
I find some things related of which I have scarcely any recollection,
and certainly have never witnessed since. A bonito, it appears,
darted out of the water after a flying-fish, open-mouthed, and so true
was the direction of his leap that he actually closed with the chase
in the air, and sought to snap it up; but, owing to some error in his
calculation, the top of his head striking the object of pursuit, sent
it spinning off in a direction quite different from that which his own
momentum obliged him to follow. A number of those huge birds, the
albatrosses, were soaring over the face of the waters, and the
flying-fish, when rising into the air to avoid the dolphins and
bonitos, were frequently caught by these poaching birds, to the very
reasonable disappointment of the sporting fish below. These intruders
proceeded not altogether with impunity, however; for we hooked several
of them, who, confident in their own sagacity and strength of wing,
swooped eagerly at the baited hooks towed far astern of the ship, and
were thus drawn on board, screaming and flapping their wings in a very
ridiculous plight. To render this curious circle of mutual destruction
quite complete, though it may diminish our sympathy for the persecuted
flying-fish, I ought to mention that on the same day one dropped on
board in the middle of its flight, and in its throat another small
fish was found half swallowed, but still alive!
All this may be considered, more or less, as mere sport; but in the
capture of the shark, a less amiable, or, I may say, a more ferocious
spirit is sure to prevail. There would seem, indeed, to be a sort of
perpetual and hereditary war waged between sailors and sharks, like
that said to exist between the Esquimaux and the Indians of North
America, where, as each of the belligerents is under the full belief
that every death, whether natural or violent, is caused by the
machinations of the other side, there is no hope of peace between
them, as long as the high conflicting parties shall be subject to the
laws of mortality.
In like manner, I fear, that in all future times, as in all times
past, when poor Jack falls overboard in Madras roads, or in Port Royal
harbour, he will be crunched between the shark's quadruple or
quintuple rows of serrated teeth, with as merciless a spirit of
enjoyment as Jack himself can display. Certainly, I nave never seen
the savage part of our nature peep out more clearly than upon these
occasions, when a whole ship's company, captain, officers, and young
gentlemen inclusive, shout in triumphant exultation over the body of a
captive shark, floundering in impotent rage on the poop or forecastle.
The capture always affords high and peculiar sport, for it is one in
which every person on board sympathises, and, to a certain extent,
takes a share. Like a fox-chase, it is ever new, and draws within its
vortex every description of person. Even the monkey, if there be one
on board, takes a vehement interest in the whole progress of this wild
scene. I remember once observing Jacko running backwards and forwards
along the after-part of the poop hammock-netting, grinning, screaming,
and chattering at such a rate, that, as it was nearly calm, he was
heard all over the decks.
"What's the matter with you, Master Mona?" said the quarter-master;
for the animal came from Teneriffe, and preserved his Spanish
cognomen. Jacko replied not, but merely stretching his head over the
railing, stared with his eyes almost bursting from his head, and by
the intensity of his grin bared his teeth and gums nearly from ear to
ear.
The sharp curved dorsal fin of a huge shark was now seen, rising
about six inches above the water, and cutting the glazed surface of
the sea by as fine a line as if a sickle had been drawn along.
"Messenger! run to the cook for a piece of pork," cried the captain,
taking command with as much glee as if it had been an enemy's cruiser.
"Where's your hook, quarter-master?"
"Here, sir, here!" cried the fellow, feeling the point, and declaring
it as sharp as any lady's needle, and in the next instant piercing
with it a huge junk of rusty pork, weighing four or five pounds; for
nothing, scarcely, is too large or too high in flavour for the stomach
of a shark.
The hook, which is as thick as one's little finger, has a curvature
about as large as that of a man's hand when half closed, and is from
six to eight inches in length, with a formidable barb. This
fierce-looking grappling-iron is furnished with three or four feet of
chain, a precaution which is absolutely necessary; for a voracious
shark will sometimes gobble the bait so deep into his stomach, that he
would snap through the rope as easily as if he were nipping the head
off an asparagus.
A good strong line, generally the end of the mizen-topsail-haulyards,
being made fast to the chain, the bait is cast into the ship's wake;
for it is very seldom so dead a calm that a vessel has not some small
motion through the water. I think I have remarked that at sea the
sharks are most apt to make their appearance when the ship is going
along at a rate of somewhat less than a mile an hour, a speed which
barely brings her under command of the rudder, or gives her what is
technically called steerage-way.
A shark, like a midshipman, is generally very hungry; but in the rare
cases when he is not in good appetite he sails slowly up to the bait,
smells at it, and gives it a poke with his shovel-nose, turning it
over and over. He then edges off to the right or left, as if he
apprehended mischief, but soon returns again, to enjoy the delicious
_haut goût_ of the damaged pork, of which a piece is always selected,
if it can be found.
While this coquetry or shyness is exhibited by John Shark, the whole
after-part of the ship is so clustered with heads that not an inch of
spare room is to be had for love or money. The rigging, the mizen-top,
and even the gaff, out to the very peak, the hammock-nettings and the
quarters, almost down to the counter, are stuck over with breathless
spectators, speaking in whispers, if they venture to speak at all, or
can find leisure for anything but fixing their gaze on the monster,
who as yet is free to roam the ocean, but who, they trust, will soon
be in their power. I have seen this go on for an hour together; after
which the shark has made up his mind to have nothing to say to us, and
either swerved away to windward, if there be any breeze at all, or
dived so deep that his place could be detected only by a faint touch
or flash of white many fathoms down. The loss of a Spanish galleon in
chase, I am persuaded, could hardly cause more bitter regret, or call
forth more intemperate expressions of anger and impatience than the
failure in hooking a shark is always sure to produce on board a ship
at sea.
On the other hand, I suppose the first symptom of an enemy's flag
coming down in the fight was never hailed with greater joy than is
felt by a ship's crew on the shark turning round to seize the bait.
The preparatory symptoms of this intention are so well known to every
one on board, that, the instant they begin to appear, a greedy whisper
of delight passes from mouth to mouth amongst the assembled multitude;
every eye is lighted up, and such as have not bronzed their cheeks by
too long exposure to sun and wind to betray any change of colour may
be seen to alter their hue from pale to red, and back to pale again,
like the tints on the sides of the dying dolphin.
It is supposed by seamen that the shark must of necessity turn on his
back before he can bite anything, and, generally speaking, he
certainly does so turn himself before he takes the bait; but this
arises from two circumstances--one of them accidental and belonging to
the particular occasion, the other arising out of the peculiar
conformation and position of his mouth. When a bait is towed astern of
a ship that has any motion through the water at all, it is necessarily
brought to the surface, or nearly so. This, of course, obliges the
shark to bite at it from below; and as his mouth is placed under his
chin, not over it, he must turn nearly on his back before he can seize
the floating piece of meat in which the hook is concealed. Even if he
does not turn completely round, he is forced to slue himself, as it is
called, so far as to show some portion of his white belly. The instant
the white skin flashes on the sight of the expectant crew, a subdued
cry, or murmur of satisfaction, is heard amongst the crowd; but no one
speaks, for fear of alarming the shark.
Sometimes, the very instant the bait is cast over the stern, the
shark flies at it with such eagerness that he actually springs
partially out of the water. This, however, is rare. On these occasions
he gorges the bait, the hook, and a foot or two of the chain, without
any mastication or delay, and darts off with his treacherous prize
with such prodigious velocity and force that it makes the rope crack
again as soon as the whole coil is drawn out; but in general he goes
more leisurely to work, and seems rather to suck in the bait than to
bite at it. Much dexterity is required in the hand which holds the
line at this moment; for a bungler is apt to be too precipitate, and
to jerk away the hook before it has got far enough down the shark's
maw. Our greedy friend, indeed, is never disposed to relinquish what
may once have passed his formidable batteries of teeth; but the hook,
by a premature tug of the line, may fix itself in a part of the jaw so
weak that it gives way in the fierce struggle which always follows.
The secret of the sport is, to let the voracious monster gulp down the
huge mess of pork, and then to give the rope a violent pull, by which
the barbed point, quitting the edge of the bait, buries itself in the
coats of the victim's throat or stomach. As the shark is not a
personage to submit patiently to such treatment, it will not be well
for any one whose foot happens to be accidentally on the coil of the
rope, for, when the hook is first fixed, it spins out like the
log-line of a ship going twelve knots.
The suddenness of the jerk with which the poor devil is brought up,
when he has reached the length of his tether, often turns him quite
over on the surface of the water. Then commence the loud cheers,
taunts, and other sounds of rage and triumph, so long suppressed. A
steady pull is insufficient to carry away the line; but it sometimes
happens that the violent struggles of the shark, when too speedily
drawn up, snap either the rope or the hook, and so he gets off, to
digest the remainder as he best can. It is, accordingly, held the best
practice to play him a little, with his mouth at the surface, till he
becomes somewhat exhausted. No sailor, therefore, ought ever to think
of hauling a shark on board merely by the rope fastened to the hook;
for, however impotent his struggles may generally be in the water,
they are rarely unattended with risk when the rogue is drawn half-way
up. To prevent the line breaking, or the hook snapping, or the jaw
being torn away, the device formerly described, of a running bowline
knot, is always adopted. This noose, being slipped down the rope, and
passed over the monster's head, is made to jam at the point of
junction of the tail with the body. When this is once fixed, the first
act of the piece is held to be complete, and the vanquished enemy is
afterwards easily drawn over the taffrail and flung on the deck, to
the unspeakable delight of all hands. But, although the shark is out
of his element, he has by no means lost his power of doing mischief;
and I would advise no one to come within range of the tail, or thrust
his toes too near the animal's mouth. The blow of a tolerably
large-sized shark's tail might break a man's leg; and I have seen a
three-inch hide tiller-rope bitten more than half-through full ten
minutes after the wretch had been dragged about the quarter-deck, and
had made all his victors keep at the most respectful distance. I
remember hearing the late Dr. Wollaston, with his wonted ingenuity,
suggest a method for measuring the strength of a shark's bite. If a
smooth plate of lead, he thought, were thrust into the fish's mouth,
the depth which his teeth should pierce the lead would furnish a sort
of scale of the force exerted.
I need scarcely mention, that, when a shark is floundering about, the
quarter-deck becomes a scene of pretty considerable confusion; and if
there be blood on the occasion, as there generally is, from all this
rough usage, the stains are not to be got rid of without a week's
scrubbing, and many a growl from the captain of the after-guard. For
the time, however, all such considerations are superseded; that is to
say, if the commander himself takes an interest in the sport, and he
must be rather a spoony skipper that does not. If he be indifferent
about the fate of the shark, it is speedily dragged forward to the
forecastle, amidst the kicks, thumps, and execrations of the
conquerors, who very soon terminate his miserable career by stabbing
him with their knives, boarding-pikes, and tomahawks, like so many
wild Indians.
The first operation is always to deprive him of his tail, which is
seldom an easy matter, it not being at all safe to come too near; but
some dextrous hand, familiar with the use of the broad axe, watches
for a quiet moment, and at a single blow severs it from the body. He
is then closed with by another, who leaps across the prostrate foe,
and with an adroit cut rips him open from snout to tail, and the
tragedy is over, so far as the struggles and sufferings of the
principal actor are concerned. There always follows, however, the most
lively curiosity on the part of the sailors to learn what the shark
has got stowed away in his inside; but they are often disappointed,
for the stomach is generally empty. I remember one famous exception,
indeed, when a very large fellow was caught on board the Alceste, in
Anjeer Roads at Java, when we were proceeding to China with the
embassy under Lord Amherst. A number of ducks and hens which had died
in the night were, as usual, thrown overboard in the morning, besides
several baskets, and many other minor things, such as bundles of
shavings and bits of cordage: all of which were found in this huge
sea-monster's inside. But what excited most surprise and admiration
was the hide of a buffalo, killed on board that day for the ship's
company's dinner. The old sailor who had cut open the shark stood with
a foot on each side, and removed the articles one by one from the huge
cavern into which they had been indiscriminately drawn. When the
operator came at last to the buffalo's skin, he held it up before him
like a curtain, and exclaimed, "There, my lads! d'ye see that? He has
swallowed a buffalo; but he could not disgest the hide!"
I have never been so unfortunate as to see a man bitten by a shark,
though, in calm weather, it is usual to allow the people to swim about
the ship. It would seem that they are disturbed by the splashing and
other noises of so many persons, and keep at a distance; for although
they are often observed near the ship both before and after the men
have been bathing, they very rarely come near the swimmers. I remember
once, indeed, at Bermuda, seeing a shark make a grab at a midshipman's
heel, just as he was getting into the boat alongside. This youngster,
who, with one or two others, had been swimming about for an hour, was
the last of the party in the water. No shark had been seen during the
whole morning; but just as he was drawing his foot into the boat the
fish darted from the bottom. Fortunately for my old messmate, there
was no time for the shark to make the half-turn of the body necessary
to bring his mouth to bear; and he escaped, by half an inch, a fate
which, besides its making one shudder to think of, would have deprived
the service of an officer now deservedly in the higher ranks of his
profession.
CHAPTER IX.
A MAN OVERBOARD!
The strange and almost savage ceremonies used at sea on crossing the
equator have been so often described that a voyager, at this time of
day, may be well excused for omitting any minute account of such wild
proceedings. The whole affair, indeed, is preposterous in its
conception, and, I must say, brutal in its execution. Notwithstanding
all this, however, I have not only permitted it to go on in ships
which I commanded, but have even encouraged it, and set it agoing,
when the men themselves were in doubt. Its evil is transient if any
evil there be, while it certainly affords Jack a topic for a month
beforehand and a fortnight afterwards; and if so ordered as to keep
its monstrosities within the limits of strict discipline, which is
easy enough, it may even be made to add to the authority of the
officers, instead of weakening their influence.
In a well-regulated ship, within one hour from the time when these
scenes of riot are at their height, order is restored, the decks are
washed and swabbed up, the wet things are hung on the clothes' lines
between the masts to dry; and the men, dressed in clean trousers and
duck frocks, are assembled at their guns for muster, as soberly and
sedately as if nothing had happened to discompose the decorous
propriety of the ship's discipline. The middies, in like manner, may
safely be allowed to have their own share of this rough fun, provided
they keep as clear of their immediate superiors as the ship's company
keep clear of the young gentlemen. And I must do the population of the
cockpit the justice to say, that, when they fairly set about it,
maugre their gentleman-like habits, aristocratical sprinklings, and
the march of intellect to boot, they do contrive to come pretty near
to the honest folks before the mast in the article of ingenious
ferocity. The captain, of course, and, generally speaking, all the
officers keep quite aloof, pocketing up their dignity with vast care,
and ready, at a moment's warning, to repress any undue familiarity. As
things proceed, however, one or two of the officers may possibly
become so much interested in the skylarking scenes going forward as to
approach a little too near, and laugh a little too loud, consistently
with the preservation of the dignity of which they were so uncommonly
chary at first starting. It cannot be expected, and indeed is not
required, that the chief actors in these wild gambols, stripped to the
buff, and shying buckets of water at one another, should be confined
within very narrow limits in their game. Accordingly, some mount the
rigging to shower down their cascades, while others squirt the
fire-engine from unseen corners upon the head of the unsuspecting
passer-by. And if it so chances (I say chances) that any one of the
"commissioned nobs" of the ship shall come in the way of these
explosions, it is served out to him like a thunder-storm, "all
accidentally," of course. Well; what is he to do? He feels that he has
indiscreetly trusted himself too far; and even if he has not actually
passed the prescribed line, still he was much too near it, and the
offence is perhaps unintentional. At all events, it is of too trifling
a nature; and, under the peculiar circumstances of the moment, to make
a complaint to the captain would be ridiculous. Having, therefore, got
his jacket well wet, and seeing the ready means of revenging himself
in kind, he snatches up a bucket, and, forgetting his dignity, hurls
the contents in the face of the mid who has given him a sousing but
two seconds before! From that moment his commission goes for nothing,
and he becomes, for the time being, one of the biggest Billy-boys
amongst them. The captain observing him in this mess, shrugs his
shoulders, walks aft, muttering, "It's all your own fault, Mr.
Hailtop; you've put yourself amongst these mad younkers; now see how
they'll handle you!"
Nothing, I confess, now looks to me more completely out of character
with our well-starched discipline than a "staid lieutenant" romping
about the booms, skulling up the rigging, blowing the grampus, and
having it blown upon him by a parcel of rattle-pated reefers. But I
remember well in the Volage being myself so gradually seduced by this
animating spectacle of fun, that, before I knew where I was, I had
crossed the rope laid on the deck as a boundary between order and
disorder, and received a bucket of cold water in each ear, while the
spout of a fire-engine, at the distance of two feet, was playing full
in my eyes. On turning my head round to escape these cataracts, and
to draw breath, a tar-brush was rammed half-way down my throat!
Far different was the scene, and very different, of course, my
deportment, four or five years afterwards on the same spot, when,
instead of being the junior lieutenant, I was the great gun of all,
the mighty master-nob of the whole party, that is to say, the captain
himself. I was then in command of the Lyra, a ten-gun sloop-of-war;
and after the shaving operations were over, and all things put once
more in order, I went on board the Alceste frigate to dine with my
excellent friend and commanding officer, the late Sir Murray Maxwell.
Lord Amherst, the ambassador to China, was on board, and in great glee
with the sight of what had been enacted before him; for although, as I
have always said, these scenes are not of a nature to bear agreeable
description, they certainly are amusing enough to see--for once.
We soon sat down to dinner; and there was, of course, a great deal of
amusement in telling the anecdotes of the day, and describing Father
Neptune's strange aspect, and his still stranger-looking family and
attendants. I ventured to back one of my figures against all or any of
theirs, if not for monstrosity, at least for interest of another kind.
Our dripping Neptune in the Lyra was accompanied, as usual, by a huge
she-monster representing Amphitrite, being no other than one of the
boatswain's mates dressed up with the main-hatchway tarpaulin for a
cloak, the jolly-boat's mizen for a petticoat, while two half-wet
swabs furnished her lubberly head with ringlets. By her side sat a
youth, her only son Triton, a morsel of submarine domestic history
ascertained by reference previously made to Lempriere's Dictionary.
This poor little fellow was a great pet amongst the crew of the brig,
and was indeed suspected to be entitled by birth to a rank above his
present station, so gentle and gentleman-like he always appeared. Even
on this occasion, when disfigured by paint, pitch, and tar, copiously
daubed over his delicate person, to render him fit company for his
papa old Neptune, he still looked as if his ill-favoured parents had
stolen him, and were trying in vain to disguise their roguery by
rigging him up in their own gipsy apparel.
It was very nearly dark when I rowed back to the Lyra, which had been
hanging for the last half hour on the frigate's weather-quarter, at
the distance of a cable's length, watching for my return. The wind was
so light, and the brig so close, that no signal was made to heave to;
indeed I had scarcely rowed under the Alceste's stern, on my way back,
before it was necessary to call out, "In bow!" The rattle of the oar
on the thwarts gave the earliest notice of my approach to the people
on board the little vessel, and I could hear the first lieutenant
exclaim in haste, "Attend the side! Where are the sides-men?"
Scarcely had these words been spoken, when I heard a splash in the
water, followed by a faint cry of distress and despair. In the next
instant the brig was hove about, and the stern-boat lowered down,
accompanied by all the hurried symptoms of a man having fallen
overboard. I made the people in the boat tug at their oars towards the
spot; but though we pulled over and over the ship's wake twenty times,
the water was everywhere unruffled and unmarked by any speck. At
length I rowed on board, turned the hands up to muster, to ascertain
who was gone, and found all present but our poor little Triton! It
appeared that the lad, who was one of the sides-men, fatigued with the
day's amusement, had stretched himself in the fore-part of the
quarter-deck hammock-netting, and gone to sleep. The sharp voice of
the officer, on seeing the gig almost alongside, had roused the
unhappy boy too suddenly; he quite forgot where he was, and, instead
of jumping in-board, plunged into the sea, never to rise again!
There are few accidents more frequent at sea than that of a man
falling overboard; and yet, strange to say, whenever it happens, it
takes every one as completely by surprise as if such a thing had never
occurred before. What is still more unaccountable, and, I must say,
altogether inexcusable, is the fact of such an incident invariably
exciting a certain degree of confusion, even in well-regulated ships.
Whenever I have witnessed the tumultuous rush of the people from
below, their eagerness to crowd into the boats, and the reckless
devotion with which they fling themselves into the water to save their
companions, I could not help thinking that it was no small disgrace to
us, to whose hands the whole arrangements of discipline are confided,
that we had not yet fallen upon any method of availing ourselves to
good purpose of so much generous activity.
Sailors are men of rough habits, but their feelings are not by any
means coarse; and, generally speaking, they are much attached to one
another, and will make great sacrifices to their messmates or
shipmates when opportunities occur. A very little address on the part
of the officers, as I have before hinted, will secure an extension of
these kindly sentiments to the quarter-deck. But what I was alluding
to just now was the cordiality of the friendships which spring up
between the sailors themselves, who, it must be recollected, have no
other society, and all, or almost all, whose ordinary social ties have
been broken either by the chances of war, or by the very nature of
their roving and desultory life, which carries them they really know
not where, and care not wherefore.
I remember once, when cruising off Terceira in the Endymion, that a
man fell overboard and was drowned. After the usual confusion, and a
long search in vain, the boats were hoisted up, and the hands called
to make sail. I was officer of the forecastle, and on looking about to
see if all the men were at their stations, missed one of the
foretop-men. Just at that moment I observed some one curled up, and
apparently hiding himself under the bow of the barge, between the boat
and the booms. "Hillo!" I said, "who are you? What are you doing here,
you skulker? Why are you not at your station?"
"I am not skulking, sir
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