Part 1 (1/2)
In Eastern Seas.
by J. J. Smith.
PREFACE.
To write something which shall please one's own friends is one thing; to undertake the task of pleasing anybody else is another; and, I take it, a far more difficult one. The writer of the following pages never sought to sail beyond the peaceful and well-marked area of the first, until induced--at the suggestions of his s.h.i.+pmates, though against his better judgment--to venture on the dark and tempest-swept ocean of the second.
The only originality claimed for the narrative is that of introducing such a manifestly inferior production to your notice.
s.h.i.+pmates, my little bark is frail; deal gently with her, and--let me ask it as a special favor--do not blow too fiercely on her untried sails.
Much depends on the t.i.tle of a book. Does it convey an adequate idea of the subject-matter? I would claim for mine at least that merit; for is not every sea over which we have voyaged to the eastward of England?
CHAPTER I.
”We sail the ocean blue, And our saucy s.h.i.+p's a beauty.”
WE COMMISSION OUR s.h.i.+P. VISIT PORTSMOUTH.
PREPARE TO SAIL.
On one of those delicious semi-tropical afternoons, which geologists tell us once bathed the whole of our island, and which even now, as though loath to part from its one-time home, still dwells lovingly in Devonia's summer, I wended my way to Devonport Park to feast my eyes once again on the familiar scenes of early days. What I beheld was a fair picture--the Hamoaze, with its burden of shapely hulls, and its beautiful undulating sh.o.r.es of wood and dell, lay glittering resplendent at my feet. So still and peaceful was it all that the din of hammers, the whir of machinery, and the voices of men were all blended in one most musical cadence. Scores of pleasure-boats dot the lake-like surface of the n.o.ble sheet of water, for the most part rowed by the l.u.s.ty arms of those amphibious creatures familiarly known as ”Jack Tars,” recently let loose from the dear old ”Model” or the equally dear ”Academy.” A voice, bell-like and clear--surely that of a girl--invited my closer attention; and yes, there she is! and not one only, but many ones,--one in each boat, whom Jack is initiating into that wonderfully difficult branch of navigation--a sailor's courts.h.i.+p!
Now, whatever anybody else may say to the contrary, I hold that the British tar would scarcely be the ”soaring soul” that he is were it not for the influence--not always a beneficial influence, by the way, of the softer s.e.x. And here, a word for him with special respect to what people are pleased to call his inconstancy. With all his vagaries, and from the very nature of his calling he has many, I think there are few other professions which would bear weighing in the balance with his and not be found as wanting in this quality. True, none is so easily swayed, so easily led; but the fault is not his, _that_ must be laid at the doors of those who compel England's sailors to a forced banishment for long periods of years, in lands where it is impossible the home influences can reach them. Is it a matter of much wonderment, then, if he is swayed by the new and intoxicating forms which pleasure takes in those far-distant climes where the eye of Mrs. Grundy never penetrates?
A somewhat curious way in which to commence my narrative, say you? I think so too, on re-reading it; but with your permission, I will not dash my pen through it.
Let me, however, make sail and get under way with my yarn.
Cast we our eyes outward once again, beyond the boats with their beautiful c.o.xswains--I mean _hen_-swains--to where that huge glistening iron ma.s.s floats proudly on the main. Reader, that object is the heroine, if I may so say, of this very unromantic story. She is in strange contrast with the numerous wooden veterans around her--relics of Old England's fighting days. I thought as I gazed on that splendid s.h.i.+p that, had I my choice, nothing would suit me better than to go to sea in her.
A month has pa.s.sed; it is the 4th of July, in the year of grace 1878, and my wish is likely to be consummated, for I find myself on this morning, with several hundreds of others, taking a short trip across the harbour to the ”Iron Duke,” for so is she named, corrupted by irreverent mariners into the ”Irish Duke.”
We skip lightly up the side, or through the ports, bundling boxes, bags, and hats unceremoniously through anywhere; and find ourselves, though not without sundry knocks and manifold bruises, standing on the quarter-deck.
With a few exceptions we are all West-countrymen, undoubted ”dumplings”
and ”duff-eaters”--at least, so say our East-country friends, though experience has taught me, and probably many of my readers too, that at demolis.h.i.+ng a plum pudding the east is not a whit behind the west; in that particular we all betray a common English origin.
Though our s.h.i.+p's company is, seemingly, young, very young, the men are growing, and l.u.s.ty and strong: and bid fair, ere the end of our commission, to develope into the ideal British sailor. A stranger, perhaps, would be struck with their youthful appearance; for strangers, especially if they be midland men, have an idea that a sailor is a hairy monster, but once removed from a gorilla or a baboon; and if we accept the relations.h.i.+p to these candated gentry, I don't think his ideas would be far out--say a dozen years since. But these terrible monsters are all now enjoying their well-earned pensions in rural quiet, leaving to the youngsters of this generation the duty of supplying their places in that great fighting machine--the navy.
The sailor of to-day possesses, at least, one decided advantage over his brother of the past. In the olden days--not so very olden either--if one man in a s.h.i.+p's company could read and write a letter he was considered a genius; now a sailor is, comparatively, an educated man: and if one is to be found who cannot read and write well, and accomplish far more abstruse things with his head, he is dubbed--a donkey. He is not now the debauched ignoramus which has made the English sailor a proverb all over the world. Education is of little value if it is not capable of changing a man's habits for the better. There is, however, much room for improvement in certain national traits; _apropos_ of this, the ”Mail”
for September, 20th, 1880, lies before me, wherein the writer, in a leading article, after giving a description of the combined squadron at Gravosa, goes on to say, ”It is amusing to find that the traditional impression of an Englishman prevails so largely at Gravosa, Ragrusa, &c., namely, that he is always drunk, or has just been drunk, or is on the point of being drunk.” Great, though, was the surprise of the honest Ragusans when they discovered that their estimate of that erratic creature was at variance with the testimony of their experience of him; for the writer further adds, ”The conduct of our men ash.o.r.e, the neat, clean appearance they present, and their orderly and _sober_ behaviour has been much commented on.”
But this is a digression--let me bring to the wind again. At the time of our arrival on board neither the captain nor the commander had joined.
The first lieutenant was, however, awaiting us on the quarter-deck, and who, with the promptness of an old sailor, allowed no time to be wasted, but proceeded at once with the work of stationing his crew.