CHAPTER V

RUNNING EASTING DOWN

_Sunday, 1st October._--The _Royalshire_ is travelling faster to-day than she has done yet, going over 10 knots under all sail--splendid sailing! Ten knots may not seem a great pace to a man who has only tried the sea in steamers, but 10 knots on a sailing-ship is equivalent to 20 on a steamer, and far, far more exhilarating. How some of our keen yachtsmen would enjoy to-day! The _Royalshire_ is laying over to it like a yacht with her lee rail, which is nearly 6 feet off the deck, almost under water: the lee scuppers are, of course, full of water, and sprays are rattling like small shot on the deck forward, and on the midship-house.

[Illustration: “ROYALSHIRE” UNDER FULL SAIL]

This is indeed sailing; everyone is cheerful, and in a good temper--as for myself, I feel as if I should like to dance about the deck and shout for very joy of such going. It is, indeed, a magnificent sight from the forecastle head, but the best view of all is from the end of the bowsprit, a favourite spot of mine. From there you see the whole ship. How the sails belly out and tear at their sheets, how firm and round they look, how white and gleaming; then look below you at the fore-foot, slicing the green water in half, and throwing out a bow-wave as big as a torpedo-catcher’s,--and all around white horses prance and toss the spume from their foaming heads.

The run for the last twenty-four hours was 232 miles, the best we have done yet. Lat. 31°.28 S., long. 127°.09 W.

We of the starboard watch came on deck at 4 P.M., to see a black-looking squall coming up.

“Aft the watch and brail in the spanker!” yells the second mate. Then the gaff-topsail and staysails had to come in. I was rolling up the main-topmast staysail, when there came a clap like thunder right over my head.

The squall was upon us, the wind shrieking through the rigging, and the rain rapidly filling the scuppers.

“The fore-royal’s blown away!” yelled Rooning, who was rolling up the staysail with me.

I looked up, and there was the fore-royal in rags, wound round and round the mast and yard; the sheet had carried away.

This was the signal for the royals to come in.

I went up on to the main-royal yard with old Taylor, and as we rolled up the sail, we could see that Johnsen, Jamieson, and Wilson were having a rare job on the fore-royal yard cutting the sail adrift.

It took them nearly a couple of hours before they got the tattered remains of the sail on deck.

I thought the old man would have been rather mad at losing the sail, but not a bit of it; he seemed rather pleased than otherwise. There was no mistake about it, his reputation for carrying on was no false one.

By 8 P.M. it was blowing very hard, and just as the port watch were going to turn in, all hands were called, and the crossjack and mainsail were hauled up and made fast.

This done, the other watch went below, whilst we set to work to get the topgallant sails in.

I went up to the fore upper-topgallant with Jennings and old man Higgins. Getting on to the yard, we found the sail thrashing about and raising a great commotion, as it had not been properly clewed up.

A terrific fight began between the furious sail, Jennings, and myself; poor old Higgins was of no use, it being all he could do to hang on.

Whenever one got a grip of the sail, after repeated attempts and tearing of nails, it shook itself free again, and then tried to knock you off the yard. The only thing to do was to trust to Providence, and use both hands. Of course, it is taking big risks. To begin with, you are standing on a swinging foot-rope, the ship is pitching so that you are first nearly flung over the top of the yard and then nearly fall over backwards; with both hands you are trying to pick up the sail, which every now and again, especially if it is not quite hauled up by the spilling lines, bellies out over the top of the yard, and hitting you in the face, tries to knock you over backwards; then if you have not got firm hold of the jackstay you are bound to go--to land on the deck 150 feet below, an unrecognisable mass, smashed like a rotten apple.

Jennings and I were soon using both hands, hitting the sail with our fists, tearing at it, every now and then getting a bit up, and hanging on to it like grim death.

Swearing like pirates, sweating, fighting, struggling, we at last got the bunt up, and the bunt gasket made fast. Then I went out on to the weather yardarm, with Jennings inside me, and Higgins inside Jennings, on the yard. Exerting all my strength, I managed to pick up the leech of the sail and get it on to the yard, and hold it down with my body on top of it. I then got my arm under the foot, and held on to it for all I was worth, shouting to Jennings to pass the gasket round the sail; this he never succeeded in doing until I could hold out no longer, and had to let the sail drop again. As we were such a long time, the fourth mate presently came up to see what we were about; but he came on to the yard without stopping to pick his language.

“What the ---- ---- ---- are you doing, you ---- hobos? Are you intending to stay up here all the ---- ---- night?”

This was nice language to use to men who were risking their lives and tearing their hearts out, and it was too much for our tempers.

Notwithstanding the pitching of the ship, and the thrashing of the sail, there would have been a fight on that yard if Mac had not sung low.

Now Mac was one of the best men aloft in the ship, but even with his aid, we had been two hours on that upper-topgallant before we had got the last gasket passed.

This was our first bit of a blow, and of course the watch wanted a lot of drilling. In hauling the mainsail up, the maintack had never been unhooked, so directly I got on deck from the fore upper-topgallant, I found I had to go up on to the main-yard with Wilson and send the tack down. It was a simple enough operation with the aid of the leech-line, but Wilson and I managed to get mixed up in the dark and, of course, lost our tempers, and he started cursing at me; at last I told him I would chuck him off the yard if he did not shut his adjectived mouth, and he was silent. This was the only row I ever had with Wilson, who was a rare good old chap, as simple as a child and very kind-hearted.

Whilst I had been aloft, three quarters of the watch had passed away. From eight to eleven we had been going fully 14 knots, and for the first time this passage the ship required two men at the wheel.

She was taking some big lumps of water aboard, and hardly had I clambered on deck out of the main rigging than a big dollop came over the rail right on top of me, and swept me off my legs; luckily I had firm hold of the topgallant halliards.

The next moment I heard the second mate calling for me: it was my timekeeping, and two of the binnacles were out. I soon had them lighted, after a liberal use of matches and oaths, and rushing on to the poop in the darkness, ran straight into the old man, all but knocking him down. Hastily apologising, I dashed on, not waiting for any remarks.

When I turned the watch out at one bell, Don rounded on me and said,

“I wish you would not make such a row lighting those binnacles, Bally.”

“Why,” I answered, “I thought I was very quiet.”

“I don’t know what you call quiet, but I lay and listened to you scratching matches and cursing for nearly twenty minutes.”

“Oh, rats! I cursed a bit to myself, I admit, in a whisper.”

“D--d big whisper,” and with that he proceeded to roll out of his bunk.

“Any water on deck?” asked the third mate.

“I advise you to put on oilskins; I’ve had a dollop over me.”

“Where’s Loring?”

“At the lee wheel.”

“What ho! a lee wheel, eh! What’s she doing?”

“Been going about 14 knots since eight,” I answered, and glancing at the clock, saw it was eight bells, and dashed on to the poop again to strike the bell.

Presently came the welcome words from the mate,

“Relieve the wheel and lookout!” and our watch went below, after a busy time.

The second mate came down into the half-deck when the watch changed, and told them how I had tried to knock the old man down.

This was a great joke.

“Bally’s been raisin’ hell everywhere to-night,” said Mac. “He wanted to fight me on the fore upper-topgallant yard, he threatened to chuck Wilson off the main-yard, he tried to knock the old man down--”

“He’s been keeping us awake in here for the last half-hour whilst he abused the binnacles,” put in Don.

“Boil your burners to-morrow,” I growled to Don, and then gave myself up to delicious sleep.

_Monday, 2nd October._--In the morning watch the weather began to moderate. We hove the log and found she was doing 8 knots.

At 5 A.M. we started setting sail in the dark. I loosed the mizen-royal and upper-topgallant sail.

We set all three royals and the upper-topgallant sails, bending another fore-royal.

Cape pigeons made their first appearance to-day, a whole flock of them hovering round the stern. They are very jolly little birds, with black and white markings, and are quite the most cheerful little beings in the Southern Ocean, far different to the sullen, majestic albatross, the weirdly screaming mollymawks, and the great Cape black hens.

The old man had the tattered royal stretched out on the poop this morning.

The whole of the foot was gone, and only about half the sail was left, and that was in strips.

“Never seen a sail blow away like that before have you?” said the old man, turning to me.

“No, sir!”

“Well, you may see two or three more before the mudhook’s in the ground,” he said, with a grim smile.

This looked as if he meant carrying on, and I thought of that twenty pounds bet.

To-day we are preparing for the bad weather in the half-deck. We have collected all the bits of canvas we can get hold of, and are nailing them round our bunks to keep the water which pours in in bad weather from swamping our bunks out.

I am better off than the others, as I have got my waterproof sheet which I used camping out. This I have nailed round mine, and very useful I afterwards found it. Many a time has the water been two blocks under the break of the poop, and of course poured into the half-deck through the ventilators, in the doors, and the cracks.

One could not keep the ventilators always closed, as even with them open, the air inside the little half-deck, with both doors shut, was very bad. Whenever the water came in through the port ventilator, it used to pour like a waterspout on to Don’s and my bunks; mine was the lower one, and my waterproof sheet had all it could do to withstand the force of water, firmly nailed as it was.

I have turned my cariboo-skin sleeping-bag fur inside again. Clothes lines have been hung overhead, chests looked to and jammed.

The nipper’s canary was taken to the carpenter’s shop next the galley, the warmest place in the ship.

We overhauled our cold weather clothes. I am very well off indeed with all my Klondyke things; indeed, but for my leaky oilskins, I could not have a better outfit for the Horn.

It consists of an Eskimo fur coat with a hood, a fur cap with nose and ear flaps, a Klondyke coat of buckskin and corduroy lining, a reefer jacket, fur mits, a thick waistcoat, and homespun Norfolk coat, besides thick pilot-cloth trousers, several pairs of stockings and thick socks, three pairs of arctic socks, arctic moccasins reaching to the knee, thick snow moccasins, field boots (to which I had given a good coating of grease), and hip rubbers.

But, alas! though I bought my rubbers a size too big, my feet were so swollen from not having worn shoes for a month that I could not get them on, and I had to swop them with Mac for a pair of knee rubbers.

Loring was very badly off, and had no warm clothes at all, so I gave him my Norfolk coat and thick waistcoat. The coat nearly reached down to his knees, and his hands went out of sight up the sleeves; but this was all the better for warmth.

The wind fell calm after sunset, and a drizzling rain set in, with heavy swell, which set the ship rolling very badly, so that it was all one could do to stand up; I took two terrific tosses, slipping upon the greasy decks.

How delightful and cosy I felt turning into my sleeping-bag in the first watch, better far than a dozen pairs of blankets. Off the Horn the air is so moist that once one’s blankets are damp they never get dry again; besides which, the iron side of the half-deck sweats awfully, and drips on to everything. But when everybody and everything else was wet off the Horn, I would crawl into my bag, my underclothes wet, my socks dripping--I did not take them off, as the only chance to get them dry was by the heat of my body--and on turning out again I would find my clothes dry, and my feet smoking hot, notwithstanding the wet socks.

But the job was getting wet rubbers on over wet socks.

Tug! tug! tug! Puff! puff! puff! It necessitated turning out punctually at seven bells. In the tropics it took me two seconds to dress, off the Horn twenty minutes;--what with putting lashings on your oilskins, a deep-sea lashing round the waist, wrist lashings to prevent the water pouring down your arms as a sea came over the rail on top of one’s head, and a lashing round your legs below the knees to prevent the water from getting up between the oilskins and rubbers.

_Tuesday, 3rd October._--The wind went down in the night, and the morning found us loafing along with a thick damp fog all round us. According to Board of Trade regulations, a lookout was sent on to the forecastle head with a cowhorn, out of which at short intervals he blew three blasts--a more weird sound I never heard.

We are busy to-day sending down all the gaskets and renewing them. Rotten gaskets have probably caused more deaths by falling from aloft than any other cause.

A careless sailor will haul his gasket tight with both hands--result, if the gasket is rotten it carries away, and over he goes backwards. Even if the gasket is not rotten, it may give to him suddenly, and the jerk taking him by surprise causes him to leave go, and away he goes, to be smashed like a jelly on the deck below, or, if he falls outboard and he manages to struggle up to the surface, the weather is probably too bad for a boat to be launched.

Lat. 36°.31 S., long. 123°.19 W. Course--S. 36 E. Run 130 miles.

The steward was rather amusing to-day in the first dog watch. Whilst looking about in the lazarette for something for the cabin tea, he came across a tin marked “Frankfurter Sauerkraut.”

This puzzled him completely, and he determined to find out what the mysterious dish was.

On opening it, of course he found sausage and cabbage inside.

“Blast me if it ain’t nothin’ but sausage and greens, after all that heathen writin’ on the tin,” he growled.

Loring and I were down there getting up bread for him--by bread I mean hard-tack--which was a job we had about once a fortnight.

“But that means sausage and cabbage,” I said.

“Well, ’ow was I to know; I ain’t no scholard--they didn’t learn me no French when I was a kid,” he replied, much incensed.

This getting up hard-tack was not a bad job. Loring used to get right inside the tank--the hole was not big enough for me, so he always had to do that part of the job.

I used to sit on the tank and pass him down a plate, this he filled with biscuit, which I poured into an empty flour sack; this when full I carried up and emptied into a locker in the pantry. The steward generally gave us something for filling his locker up--a piece of soft-tack or a little cold dry hash--which, you may be sure, we fully appreciated.

On the line, it was, to say the least of it, hot in the lazarette, and poor Loring in the small bread-tank fairly sweltered.

The job generally took nearly two hours, as we did not hurry much, and during that time our jaws kept steadily munching, as we usually put away over a dozen biscuits apiece.

The steward kept his eye on us pretty well as he did not trust us further than he could see us down there with all the cabin provisions around us.

Notwithstanding his vigilance, the pair of us generally left the lazarette our shirts stuffed with onions, which were much prized in the half-deck, and eaten raw.

In the lazarette there was a big open cask of unrefined sugar, which I was very fond of: it was so juicy as to be quite intoxicating, with all the properties of Jamaica rum. It had one drawback, however, and that was that some paraffin oil had somehow got upset in it, giving it a bit of a paraffiny taste. This, though sufficient to prevent it being served out to the crew, did not prevent me from enjoying a big bit of it whenever I got the chance.

As luck would have it, our new sugar, which had been got in at Frisco, also got tainted thoroughly with paraffin, and was not nearly so good as this old sugar, to my mind.

This was rather hard lines, as sugar is half the battle in the sort of tea and coffee you get on board a lime-juicer.

It is wonderful what you can get used to however. I have drunk many queer apologies for coffee, but with time have always managed to get so used to them that I rather liked them in the end; in the same way that on a ranche in winter in the north-west, where I have done a bit of cowboy work, if snowed up and run out of tobacco, one smokes tea, and gets so used to it that one hardly likes leaving it when one gets tobacco again.

The worst coffee I ever drank, I think, was up in the Klondyke. I had walked over the Chilkoot Pass to Lake Linderman, where the Canadian custom-house was, for the boundary line was the top of the Pass.

Here I had to wait for my truck, consisting of my stove, tent, provisions, etc., to come over the Pass by means of the Wire Cable Company, by which the things were hauled up to the summit, and the sleighs and pack-trains by which they were conveyed across the lakes and over a very rough trail down to Linderman.

Over a fortnight I had to wait, with nothing to do but watch snow slides in the mountains, whittle wood (a popular pastime in the Klondyke), and shoot ptarmigan. During this time I was obliged to put up at a canvas bunk-house, with a sawdust floor, and sleep two in a bunk between dirty blankets. A small glass of native beer cost 4 bits (the North-west Coast term for 50 cents), and whisky of the most poisonous description 6 bits (75 cents). Bacon and beans were the staple fare, washed down by a drink supposed to be coffee, but generally called slumgullion.

This slumgullion almost formed a meal in itself, for half the cup was filled with a thick sediment of flour, sawdust, and one or two other delicacies. It tasted tallowy, it tasted pork and beany, it tasted oily, and it tasted of garlic; this, for coffee, I thought hard to beat, but old Slush’s coffee on the _Royalshire_ ran it close.

There were two brands of coffee on the _Royalshire_, marked “cabin coffee” and “crew’s coffee.”

Don, who posed as a bit of a connoisseur of coffee, examined both taps as we passed them aboard. The cabin coffee he pronounced to be sweepings, the cheapest to be got in Frisco. The crew’s coffee he bit and tasted, and declared was not coffee at all.

Goodness only knows what it was composed of; all I know is that there is a deal of painted wood doing duty for coffee in America, put in circulation by certain slim gentlemen, and I sometimes think we got some of this.

It was wet during the night, and there was some lightning, but very little wind.

_Wednesday, 4th October._--To-day we are busy sending down and overhauling sheets. I am glad to say that the _Royalshire_ is not one of those cheaply-run ships as to gear, which cost so many men’s lives. The old man looks at every sheet, leech-line, buntline, and halliard whip with his own eye, and it is at once replaced with new rope if showing much signs of wear. The gaskets especially were all renewed.

It fell dead calm about four bells in the afternoon watch, and there was a heavy swell running, so the mainsail and crossjack were hauled up, and the royals furled.

It is much colder, and socks and boots are the order of the day.

There was a regular Cape Horn sunset, and I thought it looked very wild and grand. The sea was a greyish sickly green, and ran in long ridges as the swell rolled in from the South’ard, where there was evidently dirty weather; the sky was yellow, with a few angry red streaks in it, and the sun sank very slowly.

In the second dog watch, some fiend started the discussion of “Brothers and sisters have I none, but that man’s father was my father’s son: who is that man?”

After deep thought, Scar declared that that man was my son, and I seconded him.

“Both wrong,” cried Don excitedly; “that man’s myself.”

“Well, I’m fair dashed if I can see it,” said Scar; “he canna be mysel’, an’ he maun be my son.”

“Hear! hear! how can my father and my father’s son be the same person?” I joined in.

“Well you must be a pair of ---- fools, that’s all I can say,” said Don, highly scornful.

“What do you think about it, you wild Highlander?” he continued, turning to Mac.

The canny Scot put his head on one side, and after meditating a bit, came out with this extraordinary statement,

“He’s me brither, or myself.”

“I’m me gran’mother if he is!” yelled the hot-tempered third mate.

“What do you think, Klondyke?” asked Mac in an aside to me.

“Why, that you and Don are a pair of idiots.”

“Hang it all, Bally, I did not think you were such a thickhead as all that,” sneered Don in his superior way.

“Thickhead yourself; I’ll bet you anything you like that that man’s my son,” I replied.

“And I’ll bet you a fiver that that man’s myself.”

“Done with you! I’ll lay odds Klondyke’s right!” almost shrieked Scar.

At one bell the second mate came into the half-deck, and was immediately appealed to by both sides. But he found it such a matter for thought that before he could give his decision eight bells went, and we of the starboard watch had to go on deck.

The sides were evenly divided so far; Mac and the nipper joined Don, whilst Loring “plumped his stack of blues” on Scar and myself.

Mac, Loring, and I paced up and down the main-deck arguing hopelessly, each thinking the other an absolute fool for not seeing the right answer.

Whenever we came under the half-deck, we heard Scar and Don hard at it; both had lost their tempers, and sitting up in their bunks, were yelling across at each other in a way which was both painful and free. So excited were they, that they lost more than half their watch below before they gave up the unfinished argument for sleep.

Meanwhile the second mate was struggling with the problem as he walked the poop. Occasionally he would come to the rail and call us, saying that he had changed his mind; for, first he declared it was the son, then he took a few turns and came back and said it was the father, and so he went on.

There was no work to be done as we lay rolling in the swell without a breath of wind, the sails slating against the masts. Presently the whole watch were arguing, cursing, and scratching their heads about the infernal conundrum.

So the argument went on all night. At eight bells the second mate whispered it to the mate as he relieved him, and it straightway kept the mate pondering all the middle watch.

On our watch coming on deck again at 4 P.M., Don and his side were in the minority, and soon after every one went with a rush to our side, and Don was left solitary, stubborn, and defiant, declaring that he would prove he was right by mathematics, or if we preferred it, by algebra, adding that we were the biggest lot of thickheads and duffers in creation.

_Thursday, 5th October._--The calm cleared off about four bells in the forenoon watch, and left us slipping along under all sail in sunshine, blue sky, and rolling sea. The light breeze is dead aft, and fog rolls down upon us at intervals, and gives the “tootler” with the cowhorn on the forecastle head a chance of showing his powers, and startling the inhabitants of the Southern Ocean.

Two albatrosses have made their appearance. How magnificent they look as they hover in our wake, swooping gracefully about without a single quiver of their huge double-jointed wings. I have watched them for hours at a time without seeing one of them make a flap of his wings. They don’t fly, they sail; and when they want to go against the wind, “they brace sharp up,” and in a wonderful manner seem able to sail right into the wind’s eye. It is a bad sign to see them so far north, and means very bad weather to the southward.

Lat. 38°.06 S., long. 122°.03 W.

“Mugi,” the white hen from Japan, died to-day, making the third death in the hencoop this passage from unknown causes.

When we were in Frisco, Mugi had the hencoop to herself, and was as fit as she could be. The day before we sailed, however, a dozen wretched-looking barn-door fowls were sent on board with a seedy-looking cock.

The hencoop, filled with these newcomers, was brought aft and lashed on to the after-hatch, and Don was appointed feeder of the hens, a store of wheat, brick, and oyster-shells being put in his lamp-locker for their use.

Meanwhile the steward and the nipper prepared themselves for an egg competition, and it is probable that if the hens had been good layers, the cabin would not have seen many eggs, as the nipper was as sharp at abstracting eggs from a hencoop as a London pickpocket. Only two eggs have been laid, however, up till now, and they have been carefully divided between the six inmates of the half-deck, and eaten raw, shell and all.

Notwithstanding Don’s unremitting care and attention, the hens have been getting worse and worse, and there is evidently some catching disease which is killing them off.

[Illustration: THE ALBATROSS]

_Friday, 6th October._--Fine clear day, with a fresh breeze dead aft. Course--E.S.E. Run 67 miles. Lat. 40°.54 S., long. 120°.17 W.

We are now in the “Roaring Forties,” and ought to have fair westerly winds until we head north again on the other side of the Horn.

Between the parallels of 40 and 60 a westerly gale of wind blows continuously all the year round, and when a ship bound for Australia gets into these parallels she keeps in them the whole way to Sydney, and what sailors call “runs her easting down.” Some of the old tea-clippers made wonderful records running their easting down.

Perhaps the best was that of the famous American clipper _Red Jacket_, which ran 3184 miles in ten consecutive days, her daily runs being 312, 300, 288, 400, 299, 350, 357, 334, 245, and 300 miles.

This vessel was built by George Thomas, at Rockland, Maine, in 1853, for Donald M’Kay.

She made some very fast passages, one of the most notable of which was thirteen days one hour and twenty-five minutes from New York to Liverpool. In this passage she made the extraordinary day’s run of 417 knots.

The famous record-breaker _Thermopylæ_ was especially noted for her qualities when running her easting down. Perhaps as it is now some time ago when her wonderful passages were the talk of every one, just as those of the _Deutchland_ and _Wilhelm der Grosse_ are now, it might be of interest if I give a short account of this vessel, which was considered by many sailors to be the fastest sailing-ship ever launched.

The _Thermopylæ_ was a composite ship of 948 tons net, 1991 tons gross. She was built by William Hood & Co., of Aberdeen, and designed by the late Mr Bernard Waymouth, Secretary of Lloyds’ Register.

Her dimensions were--length, 212 feet; beam, 36 feet; depth, 20.9 feet.

Her first voyage was a wonderful one, as she broke a record every passage.

At 5 A.M. on the 7th of November 1868, she left Gravesend, the Lizard was passed at 6 P.M. the next day, and the channel cleared that same night.

She let go her anchor off Port Phillip, Melbourne, on 9th January 1869, a passage of sixty days from pilot to pilot. From Melbourne she went to Newcastle, N.S.W., where she loaded for Shanghai.

On the 10th of February she left Newcastle and arrived at Shanghai on the 10th of March, a passage of twenty-eight days, and another record.

From Shanghai she sailed for London, and arrived after a passage of ninety-one days. This was also a record, but was beaten a fortnight later by her great rival, _Sir Lancelot_.

Thus she went round the world, breaking the record each passage.

On her second trip to Melbourne she took sixty-one days.

When the opening of the Suez Canal broke the hearts of the tea-clippers, _Thermopylæ_ went into general trading, in which she remained till the end of 1895. Her last voyage as a deep-waterman was from Port Blakeley to Leith in one hundred and forty-one days, she was then sold, and is now a training-ship on the Tagus.

Thus, after a very fast life, the _Thermopylæ_ spends her old age in rest and quietness. A better ending this than that of many a famous tea-clipper; most of them were bought by foreign nations and ended their days timber droghing, and a number of them are afloat still, but, of course, with their huge sail-spreads and crews very much cut down.

_Leander_, _Patriarch_, _Cutty Sark_, _Titania_, and _Black Adder_ are all, I believe, still afloat.

Of course sailing-ships of the present day are only built for carrying capacity; notwithstanding this, many of them have made records worthy to be ranked with those of the tea-clippers.

In 1883 the _Maulesden_, an iron ship of 1455 tons, built by A. Stephen & Sons, of Dundee, did an extraordinary fine performance.

Leaving Greenock on 2nd March 1883, she crossed the line seventeen days out, doubled the Cape in thirty-nine days, passed Tasmania sixty-one days out, and arrived at Maryborough, Queensland, after a passage of sixty-nine days.

Running her easting down her best days’ runs were 302, 303, 304, 311, 317, 322, and 335 knots.

Her best weeks’ runs were 1698, 1798, 1908, and 1929 knots. From Maryborough she went to San Francisco, and then home, calling at Queenstown; the whole voyage, including detention in ports, took only nine months thirteen days.

Her sister ship, the _Duntrune_, was also an exceptionally speedy ship, and in 1887 went from Port Augusta, Australia, to Valparaiso in thirty-one days. This was a distance of 6920 miles, and an average of 223 knots per day.

Many of the modern four-mast barques are also very fast, and the _Royalshire_ herself is considered a fast ship, having done some very fine passages.

One of the finest and fastest of these magnificent vessels is the _Loch Torridon_. She holds the record for a deep-loaded ship from Newcastle, Australia, to San Francisco, making the passage in forty-six days. In 1891 she beat a fleet of seventy-eight vessels, coming home wool-laden from Sydney in eighty days. It was on this voyage that she made the wonderful record of forty-one days from Diego Ramirez to the Lizard.

[Illustration: AN AUSTRALIAN CLIPPER]

In 1892 she went out to Melbourne in ballast in sixty-nine days, and in nine consecutive days made runs of 302, 290, 288, 272, 285, 282, 270, 327, and 341 knots.

She has also done the passage from Newcastle, Australia, to Valparaiso in thirty days.

The _Dundee_ is another fast four-master, making the passage from Montrose to Sydney in 1889 in seventy-six days, her best days’ runs being 295, 318, 338, and 342 knots.

The _Queen Margaret_, a skysail-yard, four-mast barque and a “blue-nose,” was a noted flyer. She was up at Port Costa loading grain with us, and at the present moment is probably close on our trail.

In the afternoon watch it began to freshen up, and we furled the mizen-royal and upper-topgallant sail, and at eight bells the mainsail was hauled up and made fast. As a rule, when a course was taken in it was done at the change of the watch, and then the port watch took their yardarm and we took ours, a race taking place between the two watches in furling the sail.

As we were much the better watch, our last man was frequently on deck before they had picked up their sail. It is a great shipmaster’s dodge to work his watches in rivalry against one another, as he then gets twice the work out of them.

In sand and canvas and painting I don’t think there was much to choose between us; but when it came to taking in sail in bad weather, or work at the braces, we were twice as strong a crew as they were.

Some Yankee ships have what is called “checkerboard” crews, that is to say, niggers in one watch, white men in the other, and I believe the competition between the two watches is tremendous. There are some deep voyagers that go in for entirely nigger crews.

They are said to be rather unruly at sea, though good and fearless sailors. The great point about a negro crew is their “chantying.” They do nothing without a chanty, and their chantying is a real musical treat, which, if put on the stage, I am very sure would draw immensely.

Squalls are coming up at intervals, and on coming on deck in the middle watch we found the wind had broken off a bit. We had not been on deck long before the order came to take in the topgallant sails. Having rolled them up, we then set the staysails, and when we went below at 4 A.M. she was going a good 11 knots.

_Saturday, 7th October._--From to-day, until we get to the 40th parallel again on the other side of the Horn, we get “burgoo” for breakfast, and I must confess that I have been looking forward to this for some days.

So, on being called this morning at seven bells, it being my “peggy,” I was soon out of my bunk and beseeching old Slush to give us a good whack.

How we did enjoy that burgoo, badly made as it was! how we lingered over the last few mouthfuls! how we scraped the kid!

A lovely day, clear and cold, the topgallant sails had been set again in the morning watch, and at eight bells, 8 A.M., she was logging 11-1/2 knots.

In the forenoon watch we set the mainsail and reefed it, and then set the royals.

The run to-day was 180 miles. Course--S. 47 E. Lat. 42°.57 S., long. 118°.03 W.

It is gradually breezing up, sprays are flying, and occasionally a dollop of green water slops aboard. We are surrounded by Cape pigeons, mollymawks, and other Southern Ocean birds, and the two great albatrosses are still with us.

The crossjack was reefed between the dog watches, our watch suffering, as it was our second dog watch below. We had that crossjack reefed in pretty quick time, for every minute kept us from our tea; though it was only hard-tack and half a pannikin of coloured water per man, such as it was, it was always eagerly looked forward to. As for myself, I have twice the appetite at sea that I have on shore, and up till now have never missed a meal at sea, either in steam or sail.

In the first watch we had two Cape Horn hail-storms, and as the wind came more astern we hauled down the staysails.

_Sunday, 8th October._--Regular “running easting down” weather. Lovely day, not too cold, with sun shining and foam glistening. The white water is roaring past as the _Royalshire_ snores through it with her lee scuppers full, leaving a wake like that of a channel paddle-boat.

We shook the reefs out of the crossjack and mainsail this morning, and with all sail set she is going for all she is worth. One has to watch one’s time on the main-deck now, as biggish dollops are coming aboard.

Lat. 45°.08 S., long. 115°.19 W. Course--E. 1/2 S.

A great big mollymawk flew aboard this afternoon, a very rare occurrence. He was a magnificent bird, with a body as big as a swan’s, and with a splendid white breast. He could not rise off the deck, and was so sea-sick that he could hardly waddle along. After we had examined him, we let him go by throwing him over the side, and he soon joined his mates, his only loss being his dinner, which he left on board.

It is now pretty cold, especially at night, and some of the men forward are very badly off for clothes. Poor old Higgins and Bower are the worst off in our watch, and we have each given them a few things. The old man, who has got an immense wardrobe, has been very generous, giving away very good clothes to some of the men forward.

There is no slop-chest on board, so if a man comes aboard with only what he stands up in, he has to trust to the generosity of his shipmates.

But sailors are by far the most generous and liberal people on this earth, not hesitating to give away what they know they want very much themselves.

Bower, who knew nothing of the sea when he came aboard, thinking he could do without oilskins, sold his new ones to somebody in the other watch, and now he has had to cadge around for what he can get, and after some difficulty he has managed to get an old suit, which badly wanted oil and a good deal of patching.

Old Higgins is also very badly off, as he has no rubbers, and his sea-boots leak badly. He is a comic though pitiful sight now, as he has tied bits of canvas round his boots, and has got lashings all over him to prevent his tattered raiment from blowing away. Even his old slouch hat he has tied on by a piece of canvas passed over it and made fast under his chin.

When the decks are wet, as they are now, it is almost impossible to stand up in anything but rubbers, so the men that have no rubbers tumble and slip up in every direction as the ship rolls; even in rubbers, it is hard enough to keep on your legs.

_Monday, 9th October._--Lat. 46°.35 S., long. 111°.52 W. Course--S. 59 E. Run 173 miles.

It is much colder to-day, and much rougher, with hail squalls at intervals, the wind having gone more into the southward.

It is too cold for sand and canvasing, so we are busy making mats for fenders; and Jamieson is engaged in making a large mat, which is going to make part of a terrible instrument called “the bear,” which afterwards caused much heart-breaking work.

I was beginning to think we were going to have an easy forenoon watch, as we all sat under the forecastle head in comfort whilst the seas thundered on the deck above us, and a continuous succession of dollops fell aboard amidships. But it was too good to last long, as presently the second mate sneaked forward with a large bundle of rovings--the result of many first watches in the tropics, which he had kept hoarded in his cabin--these, and as many rope yarns as we could carry, he presented to four of us.

“Lubbock and Jennings, you two go up the fore and put in as many rope yarns as you can cram in from the royal-yard down, and if there are any gaps, put a roving in as well, and look lively about it, Loring and Bower, you do the same on the main.”

If the reader has not understood this order, I will explain. We simply had to lash the head of the sails more firmly on to the jackstay, to resist the terrific Cape Horn squalls in front of us.

It was a cold job, I can tell you. It was blowing pretty hard, and there was an icy chill in the southerly wind which soon had one’s fingers frozen and numbed, and as one fumbled clumsily and squeezed one’s fingers under the jackstay, they were soon sore and bleeding.

But though not a pleasant job, it had one compensation, the sea and ship from aloft were a glorious sight.

All around the ship was a mass of white froth, and great Cape Horn greybeards rolled up on each side until they overbalanced themselves, and broke their tops into glittering spray.

A good deal of green water is coming aboard, and the cook has to keep his weather door shut.

Circling and wheeling astern are sea-birds of all kinds, Cape hens, mollymawks, Cape blackbirds, Cape pigeons, and our two friends the great wandering albatrosses. These Cape blackbirds are like large black gulls, and utter a weird kind of cry. I believe they are really another species of albatross called the “sooty albatross.”

_Tuesday, 10th October._--The weather is still fine but squally, and we are doing great sailing. It is much colder again.

Loring and I were sent up aloft to finish putting the rovings in. We both put on our thickest clothes, and our oilskins over them, and I put on my Klondyke fur cap; but notwithstanding this, we found it bitterly cold up aloft, and to make matters worse, we had hardly put a couple of rovings in on the mizen upper-topsail yard when a hail-storm came down upon us, and beat upon us for nearly an hour. But presently the old man came on deck, and seeing us up there aloft, told the second mate to call us down, as he thought it was too cold to keep us aloft for such a long time in such weather. Presently the sun came out, and things looked much brighter.

Loring and I were given half a dozen flags to patch, which we did sitting to leeward of the chart-house on the poop, and a very comfortable time we had of it.

All night it was squally and very cold, and we are now fairly in the ruck of it.