CHAPTER IX

THE WESTERN OCEAN

_Sunday, 10th December._--A rippling breeze and a peeping sun. The _Royalshire_ is lying over to it under all sail, with her yards braced up. In the lee scuppers a roaring torrent of broken water rushes, gushing in and out of the clanging ports.

As I relieve the wheel the relieved helmsman gives me the course,

“North-east by north a half north.”

“North-east by north a half north,” I repeat.

At sea, when given an order or instructions you always repeat it, so as to show that you understand. For instance, the mate will give the order to the bosun,

“Haul aft those headsheets a bit, bosun!” The bosun at once repeats,

“Haul aft the headsheets, sir,” and without waiting for further speech from the mate, goes forward and superintends the hauling aft of the headsheets.

We are in latitude 31°.20 north to-day, and making fine northing.

All day we worked as if for a wager, shifting sail.

In the evening I took part in a game of poker in the midship-house with Sails, the bosun, Don, and Loring.

Our chips were beans, and cost ten a penny, and so you can imagine there were no fortunes lost; I think I came out a great winner of a penny half-penny. We played with the only pack of cards on the ship, a wretched, dirty, torn and broken pack, about six cards of which we all knew by sight.

As a sign that we are getting into colder latitudes, I turned my sleeping-bag to-day.

_Monday, 11th December._--The breeze is still piping from the south-east. Lat. 34°.52 N.

Hard at work bending sail all day, in the afternoon all hands had to turn to, much to the disgust of the watch below.

We worked with feverish hurry. A whole watch would tail on to the gantline, and come stumbling aft in the rolling shambling trot which sailors and cowboys have in common, all roaring at the tops of their voices. It was an inspiriting scene. Up would go the sail, and then would come the cry,

“Aloft and bend it!”

“Now then, starbowlines!” would shout the second mate, as he raced up the starboard ratlines at the head of our watch.

[Illustration: SHIFTING SAIL]

It was my wheel at four bells, but being up aloft the second mate would not let me relieve old Foghorn till six bells.

At six bells I relieved the wheel, and for the next few hours stood there, the only man in the after-part of the ship, for everybody was forward shifting sail on the foremast.

In solitude I leant against the wheel and meditated, gazing over the foam-flecked sea and drinking in the unspeakable grandeur of the great deep.

Before me rose the bellying sails, and from forward the sounds of toil and sweat came floating aft, sharp commands, the chorus of a chanty, cries from aloft, the rattle of blocks, the stamp of many feet, the flapping, cracking sound of a sail being sheeted home; whilst around me, but for the swirl of the water alongside, all was silent. Whilst they worked, the ship was in my hands: I steered her, I showed her the way to go, I kept her from prancing away to one side or the other, with inexorable hand grasping the spokes I held her on her course, ever and anon casting an eye to windward.

No bells were struck; time passed; amidst pillows of pink and yellow clouds and a counterpane of deep purple shading to mauve and lilac, his majesty the sun went to bed; still they worked forward, and aft I steered and steered. The black pall of night began to descend upon the sea; there is no twilight in these latitudes, and whilst yet the afterglow lit up the west, the stars were beginning to peep forth in the east.

It was evidently long past eight bells, still they toiled; the welcome sound of “Sidelights out, hand on the lookout!” remained unheard, and I began to wonder if they were going to work all night. It was so dark now that I had to strain my eyes to see the compass card.

I could see them at work bending the staysails; all the square canvas was bent, and some hands were putting the discarded sails below.

At last came the welcome voice of the mate,

“Clear up the decks, sidelights out, binnacles, hand on the lookout.”

Don brought me up a couple of binnacles and then went forward.

Both watches went to their tea after the decks were cleared up; the mate, who walked the poop whilst the second mate was at his tea, came and had a look to see that I was on my course, but said nothing, so I steered on in silence.

I had relieved the wheel expecting only to be at the helm an hour, and here I was still, running into five hours.

I was awfully hungry, and Loring had promised us some meat balls out of the remains of our salt junk. I began to speculate whether some hungry person would eat my share or not, and to wish that I carried about a piece of hard-tack in my pocket like Don does; at anyrate, I thought, it’s my watch below at 8 P.M., and it must be pretty close on that now.

Presently the second mate came on deck from his tea and relieved the mate.

“Who’s at the wheel?” I heard him ask.

“Lubbock,” answered the mate.

“Why, he’s been at the wheel since three o’clock; hasn’t he been relieved yet?”

“No; I thought he relieved the wheel when we knocked off.”

So the second mate called Mac out, and sent him forward to find out whose proper wheel it was, and at last I was relieved, and went below quite stiff from standing at the wheel so long, and not in the best of tempers.

But I soon cheered up when I found that good old Mac had put two meat balls on my plate, though there was no hot tea left.

The old man called Don aft in the first watch.

On to the poop went Don, wondering what wickedness he had been guilty of. But to his great surprise the old man told him that he had decided to raise his and my wages to two pounds ten a month instead of two pounds, as he did not think it fair that we, who were doing able seamen’s work, should not get as much as the other O.S.’s, who were each getting two pounds ten.

The wind dropped, and hauled aft in the middle watch, and we are only going 4 knots instead of 10.

I forget who was the Jonah at the wheel. Some men always bring on a head wind or break her off her course when they are at the wheel, though it is funny how every helmsman on going forward after being relieved always declares that he brought her up so many points, or to her course.

It is a great merit in a helmsman to be lucky in this way, and so everyone boasts that he has done so.

Whilst up aloft bending sail this afternoon, we sighted a ship right ahead, and the old man says she is the _Puritan_, the ship he had such a race home with once from Frisco.

_Tuesday, 12th December._--Lat. 36°.56 N., long. 30°.50 W.

Wind dead aft, but light; only going about 4 knots.

We sighted land about noon, on our starboard bow, which proved to be St Michael’s, in the Western Isles. This is the first land we have sighted since Cape Horn, though we were only just out of sight of St Helena.

The poor old gig which was smashed up in the bad weather off the Horn was sent overboard to-day, after having had her name carefully scraped out, and we watched her as she slowly went astern, full of water, wondering what would be her first resting-place.

We oiled the decks again this afternoon, but it is too damp for the oil to dry quickly, so this evening in the first dog watch, whilst we were at the braces, not a man could stand up, and the whole watch were tumbling about in every direction.

It is an amusing spectacle to see a whole watch go flat on their backs at the first haul on the crossjack-brace, and the second mate was evidently very amused.

But it was not so amusing if you were one of that watch, especially if you had no boots on, as I had, and the man next you had heavy sea-boots which, sliding from under him, crashed on to your bare toes and swept you also off your feet into the scuppers.

We sighted a brig on the port quarter in the second dog watch just about sunset, and she made a very pretty picture, standing out as if cut in jet, right in the reddest bit.

_Wednesday, 13th December._--The wind hauled into the west this morning, and we braced the yards forward. Hove the log, and found we were going 9 knots.

The weather is thick, which prevents us from seeing land on both sides of us, as we are right in the middle of the Western Isles.

The wind hauled into the nor’ard about three o’clock, a dead muzzler, we can only head south-east, and are on a lee shore.

It was a dirty-looking night, and we hauled down the light weather sails.

Old Higgins and I have been busy cleaning the Martini-Henry rifles and the cutlasses in the cabin. The old man came down and watched us, and asked Higgins a number of questions about his campaigns in India; but he will not believe that he was with Roberts.

_Thursday, 14th December._--We came up to our course during the night. There are three islands in sight to leeward.

The wind broke off this morning whilst I was at the wheel, and fell very light.

At nine o’clock we wore ship, and took a very long time coming round, as we hardly had steerage way.

Now we are heading N.N.W. by compass, and running dead into a very heavy swell, with land in sight to leeward, to windward, and astern.

The thick weather rolled off about noon, and allowed the sun to come through.

We are busy in the after-hold shifting the bags of barley farther forward, as she is too weighted down aft, and we do not want to be pooped in the bad weather coming, as we were off the Horn.

It is hard work crawling about in the darkness on one’s hands and knees, trundling a heavy bag of barley in front of you until you run across Mac, who, right under the deck beams, is wedged in between the barley and the deck. Here, in pitch darkness, he manages to stow the bags to his satisfaction.

Two tramp steamers passed us quite close this afternoon, both dagos.

The smaller was towing the bigger, which was whale-backed, and had evidently lost her propeller. They were evidently bound for St Michael’s. They passed us quite close, but we did not exchange signals, why I don’t know.

A disabled steamer and a heavy swell are pretty sure signs that there is very dirty weather ahead.

We are 1080 miles from Queenstown to-day, according to the mate.

_Friday, 15th December._--A light breeze dead aft sprang up in the first watch last night, and gradually freshened, hauling on to the quarter as it got stronger.

This afternoon we are braced sharp up under all sail. Lat. 42°.55 N., and we have still got a chance of getting to Queenstown by Christmas.

Everybody has their own opinion of where we shall be sent to. Some say Hamburg, some Havre, some Hull, some Leith, Dublin, London, or Liverpool.

Though we are now in the cold North Atlantic in midwinter, we cannot have the promised burgoo, as there is no more left.

Whilst in the tropics, we all thoroughly repaired our leaky oilskins, and gave them a thorough oiling. There is not much left of the original pair of my oilskin pants, as they are now one mass of patches inside and out.

_Saturday, 16th December._--Last night in the middle watch the wind started freshening, and we took in flying-jib, jigger-topmast staysail, and gaff-topsail.

In the morning watch the royals and the fore and main upper-topgallant sails had to come in.

At 8 A.M. all hands were called to the crossjack, and we made it fast.

It is blowing a heavy gale, with a big sea running, but the old man is carrying on in his usual bold way.

In the forenoon watch we took in the mainsail and spanker; the poor old _Royalshire_ is being fairly hurled through the heavy head sea, and the half-deck is awash again.

The other watch took in the three lower-topgallant sails and the staysails early in the afternoon.

At 3.30 P.M. I was awakened and nearly hurled out of my bunk by the ship giving a terrific roll. Over and over she went, until I thought she was going right over.

There was a roar and clatter overhead as a huge sea pooped us and fell the whole length of the rail, and as we looked through the porthole we could not see the hatches for water.

The break of the poop was, of course, filled up two blocks, and the water poured into the half-deck until the lower bunks were under water.

“That’ll mean all hands!” cried Mac. We both slipped into our oilskins and rubbers with all dispatch, ready for the call.

In bad weather, one has them slung handy alongside one’s bunk, well off the deck to be clear of the water, and great is the language if, as often happens, you find your rubbers have carried away, and are floating about on the flood.

The ship lay right over, and we could see nothing but water boiling and surging above the hatches, above the fife-rails.

We had hardly got into our rubbers, before we heard the mate yelling in stentorian tones,

“All hands on deck!”

Watching our chance, we dashed out of the half-deck by the windward door, and scrambled on to the poop.

It was blowing twice as hard as it was at noon, and there was a terrific beam sea running.

“Clew up the three upper-topsails and make them fast,” said the old man to the mate.

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Then get the foresail off her.”

The fine new fore upper-topsail was split from top to bottom.

We had the usual amphibious time hauling up the topsails.

At the lee clew-lines and spilling-lines we were up to our necks in water, and every sea washed clean over us.

It is curious how used one gets to hanging on for one’s life whilst a sea roars over one’s head. One holds one’s breath and takes it quite calmly, drawing a long breath directly one gets one’s head out of water, and hauling away again until the next wave appears.

It was dark before we got her snugged down and hove-to under three lower-topsails.

She was making very heavy weather of it, and taking fearful lee water aboard.

I, of course, managed to get hurt as usual. I went to the half-deck to get some matches for Don to light the side lights and binnacles with.

Carefully watching my chance, I opened the door quickly, but was almost knocked down the next moment; the half-deck was so full of water that it was up to my shoulders, and I stand 6 feet 4 inches.

This water, directly I opened the door, started to pour out, and crushed me in the doorway.

At the same moment I saw a huge sea coming aboard. In vain I struggled to get inside the half-deck and shut the door; there was a crash, and with the roar of a raging torrent the sea rushed aft, filled up the break of the poop, and overcoming the feeble resistance of the water pouring out of the half-deck, slammed the door to, catching my fingers just below the nails. At first I thought the top of my first finger was gone; but no, though it was cut to the bone on both sides, it was still there, and with my other fingers was pouring forth blood on the waters.

Splashing about in the water in the half-deck (which was over my waist, and had soaked the nipper’s and Mac’s bunks, which were the top bunks to leeward), I managed to find a piece of rag, which I hastily wound round my fingers with some spun yarn, of which every sailor carries some in his pocket.

Getting the matches, I escaped from the flooded half-deck and got safely on to the poop, only to find that Don had got a light.

Then I had to go down into the hold with Sails to see that another fore upper-topsail was handy, so that we could send it up and bend it in the night if the weather moderated.

There was no time ever wasted on the _Royalshire_.

We had to get into the hold by the sail-locker skylight on the poop--the same as that which I fell through one day in the South Pacific.

On getting below, we found that the grain bags had shifted in the ’tween-decks, and there was over two feet between the bags and the port side of the ship.

They had evidently shifted when the bad squall struck us, and we foresaw work on the morrow filling up the gap.

Poor old Loring was washed out of the galley when the squall came down. He was asleep at the time, and awoke to find himself floating in four feet of water with all his pots and pans around him.

He lost several of his pans, and his largest pot, the beef one, was cracked from top to bottom, probably against his head, as they cruised together in the turbulent waters.

Of course it was impossible to get a fire alight in the galley; no fresh water either could be served out in the first dog watch; so as usual, though soaking wet and chilled to the bone, there was no hot tea to warm us up, as we sat in our bunks paddling our feet in the water and munching our sodden hard-tack, which had been under water like everything else.

I have doctored up my fingers to the best of my ability, and wrapped them in diachylon plaster. It is an awful nuisance, as it is my right hand; but they must get along as best they can, and do their work as usual.

Don has the crow of us in the half-deck, as in the forecastle they have hardly got three inches of water over the floor whereas we have got about three feet, and it pours in in a continual cascade through the cracks in the door. The scupper holes to let it run off are of course useless, as instead of the water running out through them, it comes in, so in bad weather we keep them plugged.

It was my trick at the wheel from 8 to 10 in the first watch, and of course, as she was hove-to, I only had to hold the wheel. It might just as well have been lashed.

We are lying broadside-on to the sea, and every other wave roars over the weather bulwarks in a way which is alarming even for a sailor to see; for no sailor likes to see his ship take weather water aboard when hove-to, though the quantity of lee water does not matter.

_Sunday, 17th December._--All night she made bad weather of it under three lower-topsails.

It was a bright, clear night, blowing very hard, with occasional hail squalls, and there was an eclipse of the moon.

The mate, for some unknown reason, kept his watch working in danger of their lives all the middle watch, reefing and setting the three staysails.

They had a terrible hard job, and one or two of them were several times nearly washed overboard whilst reefing the jigger-staysail.

This is the first time the staysails have been reefed. I suppose the mate thought it would steady her a bit and prevent her from putting her weather rail under quite so frequently.

At anyrate, his watch went below at eight bells worn out and angry at what they considered absolutely unnecessary work.

There is no doubt about it that the mate does fairly keep his watch up to their necks in work of some sort or other.

He hates doing nothing himself, and is never happy unless he has his watch hard at it. As they are a very poor, weak watch, it comes all the harder on them, for what would take our watch an hour to do would take them twice as long.

One day we had a belaying-pin pulling match.

Two men sit down on the deck facing each other, with feet to feet, and both grasp a belaying pin, one man taking the outside hold and the other the inside, then the man who first pulls the other up on to his legs is the victor.

I won the competition, and was rather pleased, as I pulled up the second mate pretty easily each time, and he is a very strong man, and weighs more than I do; but length of limb gives one an advantage, though the chief strain comes on the muscles of the back.

He was second, and Don third, after several terrific hard struggles with Mac, who was a good fourth.

As none of the men in the port forecastle were near Don in strength, it shows that ours was much the strongest watch, though, with poor old Nelson laid up and Loring in the galley, we were two good men short.

True, old Slush was in our watch, but he was nearly useless; he did not pull his weight on a rope, and up aloft he could only hang on.

Old Foghorn Wilson and Rooning are both powerful men, and stronger than anybody in the other watch except Don and Webber (who is 6 ft. 3, and ought to be much stronger than he is).

The weather is a little better this morning, though the _Royalshire_ is still swept by the sea like a half-tide rock.

Yesterday she was down to her fair-leads when the squall struck her, and Scar said she went over as far as she did off the Horn.

We reefed and set the foresail and main upper-topsail in the morning watch.

The weather cleared up wonderfully by noon, and the sun came out once more; the sea went down fast, and the wind completely dropped.

Lat. 43°.4 N., long. 20°.55 W. Course--N. 70 E. Run 94 miles.

Of course we had a very big drift of lee way when we were hove-to.

After sunset it fell dead calm, and we set everything once more.

I had an accident at the fore upper-topsail halliards which might have smashed my hand up.

With all hands on the halliards, we hoisted the yard to the chanty of “Reuben Ranzo.”

“REUBEN RANZO.”

_Solo._ “Hurrah! for Reuben Ranzo,” _Chorus._ “Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!” _Solo._ “Hurrah! for Reuben Ranzo,” _Chorus._ “Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!”

_Solo._ “Ranzo was no sailor,” _Chorus._ “Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!” _Solo._ “Ranzo was a tailor,” _Chorus._ “Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!”

_Solo._ “Ranzo joined the _Beauty_,” _Chorus._ “Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!” _Solo._ “And did not know his duty,” _Chorus._ “Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!”

It is too long to give in full, so I will leave out the chorus, which comes in like thunder between each line, the haul coming each time on the “Ranzo.”

“His skipper was a dandy, And was too fond of brandy.

“He called Ranzo a lubber, And made him eat whale blubber.

“The _Beauty_ was a whaler, Ranzo was no sailor.

“They set him holy-stoning, And cared not for his groaning.

“They gave him ‘lashes twenty,’ Nineteen more than plenty.

“Reuben Ranzo fainted, His back with oil was painted.

“They gave him cake and whisky, Which made him rather frisky.

“They made him the best sailor, Sailing on that whaler.

“They put him navigating, And gave him extra rating.

“Ranzo now is skipper Of a China clipper.

“Ranzo was a tailor, Now he is a sailor.”

So runs the queer story of Reuben Ranzo, a rare old hauling chanty.

Being tall, I was on the fore-part hauling between the two blocks; as the yard went up the upper block came down, and finally was brought up in its career by the fife-rail, between which and the block my poor old mangled hand got caught.

The second mate, who was hauling alongside me, saw the jam, and interrupted the chanty which was being roared out in hurricane tones by a cry of “Vast hauling!” They stopped just in time, one more pull with both watches on the rope, and my hand would have been squashed flat; as it was it was pretty severely crushed, all the fingers were spurting blood from the tips, and my old wounds re-opened.

“Bally hurt again!” was the cry. But I got my hand free and went on pulling, though the halliards and lower block got smeared and spotted with blood.

These little accidents are thought nothing of at sea; you bind up your hand roughly with a bit of rag, and go on as if nothing had happened.

_Monday, 18th December._--It fell dead calm during the night, and we squared the yards, hauling up the mainsail and crossjack.

No wind, and heavy swell running all day. We were down in the hold all day toiling like miners, and replacing the grain bags which shifted the other day.

From 8 to 10 was my wheel in the first watch, and I managed to bring up a nice little breeze from dead aft, which rapidly increased in strength.

At four bells we took in the gaff-topsail and flying-jib, and furled the royals.

I made the gaff-topsail fast, and then went up on to the mizen-royal yard with Bower.

On getting on to the yard, I found that the sail had not been properly clewed up, and was bellying about and thrashing itself furiously.

The starboard leech-line had got jammed, so on that side the sail was flapping over the yard.

I was picking up the bunt when Bower arrived and proceeded, as was his wont, to lay down the law as to what was to be done.

He just stood on the foot-rope without attempting to help me, declaring that if I persisted in picking up the sail when it was not properly hauled up, it would most probably hurl me off the yard.

I was beginning to get angry. I picked up the bunt without his touching it, and made the bunt gasket fast.

Then I went out to windward, where the sail was really thrashing about like a fury.

I had a hard fight; several times the sail blew right over me, but I hung on like grim death, and at last managed to get the inner gasket passed and made fast.

As I moved out to the yardarm, I holloa’d to Bower, who had never ceased to talk and refused to do anything else,

“Shut your infernal jabber, and don’t talk rot, but come out on to the yard and pass this gasket.”

As the dangerous part of the sail was safely muzzled, out he came, but again he refused to do anything except in the wrong way, of course thinking he knew best.

The end of it was that I got angry, very angry, for as soon as I did anything he undid it.

“If you don’t get off this blasted yard at once, you d--d German half-breed hobo, I’ll throw you down.”

I was balancing myself on the yardarm and hanging on with one hand to the lift.

He replied by aiming a shrewd blow at me with his right fist whilst he hung on to the jackstay with his left.

The ship was pitching pretty heavily, with the result that he missed my face and nearly toppled over the yard.

I at once jabbed my left fist hard on his nose as the ship threw him forward.

The least blow threw us off our balance, as, over 150 feet above the deck as we were, every motion of the ship was magnified.

He hit back furiously at me, catching me full in the chest, and making the foot-rope swing madly as he lunged at me.

Losing my balance, I toppled back over the yard, and only saved myself by hanging with my right arm to the lift.

This fairly put my blood up, and trusting to luck in being able to grab hold of anything in case I lost my balance, I went for him, and hit him a shrewd blow on the nose, which made it bleed, and another on the jaw-bone.

This gave me the victory. He slowly began to retreat backwards along the foot-rope, holding on to the jackstay with one hand and protecting himself with the other.

I had no pity on him, and chased him to the bunt, where I left him and went out on to the yardarm again to finish furling the sail.

Then the rascal played me a dirty trick, which nearly sent me hurtling to the deck.

He cast loose the inner gasket. The released sail, caught by the wind as it fell below the yard, began to thrash furiously again, and, flapping over the yard, all but sent me flying, as I was caught unawares.

After this Bower thought he had better make himself scarce, and descended.

I finished furling the royal by myself, and then going down on to the upper-topgallant, found Bower trying to make the weather side of the sail fast.

I immediately chased him off that yard. When I got down on deck, the second mate asked me what I had been thumping Bower up aloft for.

“Because he’s such a hopeless idiot, and does not know it,” I replied. “He refused to pick up the mizen-royal because it was not clewed up enough, and when he did come out on to the yardarm he would not do what I told him, so there was trouble.”

“Well, it was pretty dangerous; I thought the sail was going to have you off the foot-ropes once or twice. I must have that bull’s eye seen to, the leech-line won’t go through it.”

Since we have been in the Western Ocean, the bosun, Chips, and Sails have been put in the watches, and now work watch and watch--the bosun in the port watch, Chips and Sails with us.

Now these three men are the most luxurious on the ship; they have all kinds of private stores. The bosun has some Californian wine, Chips a bag of flour and jam in plenty, and Sails a spirit-lamp.

I have often gone into the midship-house after a tea consisting of hard-tack and half a pannikin of coloured water, to find these three sitting down to hot plum cake, tea with milk in it, soft-tack and butter, and even sea-pie.

Now, in the night watches, they brew coffee in the bosun’s locker, and the mates and we in the half-deck each get a pannikin. We each supply a pannikin of water, and the second mate supplies the sugar.

In our watch Sails brews the coffee, which we have either about six bells in the first watch, or one bell in the middle watch.

As the time draws near for the water to boil, Mac and I pay repeated visits to Sails, who sits cosy and warm watching his spirit-lamp in the little bosun’s locker.

The second mate gets the first pannikin, which I bring aft to him well sweetened and steaming hot.

Of course I take good care the old man is not on deck before I take it up on to the poop.

Never have I looked forward to anything more than that midnight pannikin of coffee; it tasted like nectar, hot and sweet; I thought it absolutely delicious.

Whilst the coffee was brewing, we all used to get very impatient, and the second mate used constantly to call me up on to the poop and ask in a whisper, as if it was the most important matter in the world, “Isn’t the coffee ready yet?”

To-night I have got rheumatism in my knees, from having had wet socks on for so many days.

I have not said anything lately about my poor old knee which got so knocked about.

Though the knee-cap has never got back into its right place, it has made a wonderful recovery, and the knee is as strong as ever again, and I can run once more along the deck with the fastest.

I suppose the salt has strengthened it.

_Tuesday, 19th December._--The wind which, when we left the deck at midnight, was blowing strong dead aft, became unsteady during the middle watch, and a cold rain set in.

The port watch set the main-royal, and we came on deck at 4 A.M. to find them at the braces, the wind having shifted right ahead.

We braced her sharp up, and furled the main-royal again.

A bad day; rain, and heavy sea. During my wheel from 12 to 2 P.M., we were only going S.E. by E. by compass, but I think the variation is easterly.

We went about at 3 P.M., our watch putting her about ourselves, a pretty creditable performance on a big four-mast barque like the _Royalshire_, which has probably got the longest and heaviest yards of any ship afloat.

Jamieson was at the wheel, so it left us ten hands to put her about, with Loring of course attending to the foresheet, which is always the cook’s duty when the ship goes about.

We had her round and the decks cleared up in very good time, a much shorter time than it had taken the two watches together on several occasions.

We are now heading N. by W.

This evening we took in the topgallant sails, as it is blowing harder, and the old man expects an easterly gale.

Lat. 45°.10 N., long. 16°.39 W. Course--N. 46 E. Run 121 miles.

_Wednesday, 20th December._--A steamer passed us in the first watch, crossing our bows about a mile away.

It was very cold during the morning watch, and a biting north-easter is blowing.

During my wheel, from 2 to 4 A.M., I was very glad to put on my Klondyke fur cap and mits.

Grub is beginning to run short; two biscuits and a half a pannikin of water was my breakfast this morning, and we are all very fine drawn except the second mate, who, with plenty to eat in the cabin, has been putting on flesh, and if he does not look out, will walk ashore with a stomach on him like a man of fifty though he is not twenty-two yet.

Notwithstanding his rotund stomach he is still by far the most active man aloft, and often have I seen him run along a topsail yard without holding on.

A barque outward bound passed us quite close this morning with her fore-royal yard on deck.

We are in for another blow.

At 1 P.M. all hands were called to furl the mainsail. By 4 P.M. a heavy gale was blowing, with a big sea, and we reefed the foresail and three upper-topsails.

I had a very bad wheel this evening from 8 to 10; it was blowing very hard, and the rain came pouring down in squall after squall.

The _Royalshire_, heavily pressed, was pitching into it, and throwing the spray in solid masses over herself. The wheel kicked furiously, and it was all I could do to hold it.

We soon had to make the three upper-topsails fast, and at midnight all hands furled the foresail, and once more we are hove-to under lower-topsails, this time on the starboard tack.

_Thursday, 21st December._--The old man came on deck in the morning watch in a very bad temper, and finding the watch “standing-by,” ordered the second mate to wash down the poop.

Well, it was not necessary to work the pump; we simply filled the buckets from the lee scuppers and passed them along.

Rooning, Jennings, and Bower were passing the water on the main-deck, whilst I stood on the poop-ladder and handed the buckets up.

Presently a huge sea came up to windward.

“Hang on all!” sang out the second mate.

Rooning and Bower made a jump for the mizen fife-rail, but Jennings was caught half-way between the mizen rigging and the break of the poop, a bucket of water in each hand.

The sea fairly roared aboard, hitting the mizen-mast half-way between the top and the deck, and tearing Rooning and Bower off the fife-rail, hurled them into the lee scuppers, where Jennings was of course swept also.

The water poured over the lee rail in a fury of foam, and I expected all three to be carried overboard.

The _Royalshire_ took some time shaking herself free, and when finally Mac and I did manage to pull them out from a tangle of gear in the scuppers, they were very nearly drowned; three buckets went overboard, and two were smashed into mere bundles of staves.

It was a marvellous thing that neither of the three were seriously hurt. Bower and Rooning especially were tossed with terrific force into the scuppers.

Such is Providence! They ought to have been killed; they ought to have been washed overboard; but at sea, Providence has constantly to intervene, or no sailor would live long.

Notwithstanding this gentle reminder from the Atlantic Ocean, that he would himself wash down the poop, orders however absurd have to be obeyed, and we finished the job.

At 8 A.M. the old man decided to “wear ship,” as he did not dare go about in the sea that was running.

As it was, Mac told me we should be lucky if we got through without losing one or two men overboard.

The first thing to do in wearing ship is to ease away the after-braces and hard a-weather the helm, the old man, of course, waiting for a lull before he ordered the helm hard a-weather.

She was a very long time before she began to pay off, then we hauled away gradually on the after-braces, keeping the yards lifting until they were canted on the other tack.

But when we had got them dead square, the old man stopped us. Slowly the wind came on the other quarter, and the helm was eased, the old man watching for another “smooth” before bringing her to.

This wearing ship took a very long time, as she went off very slowly.

The mate and his watch got into trouble, as they let the fore-yards come round too soon; and there was the devil to pay.

The old man raved and stamped on the poop, and forward, everyone was yelling and cursing at once, we starboard gang looking on and waiting with a kind of condescending superiority upon the poor port watch.

But in the end we got through the operation much drier than we expected to be, and we are now hove-to on the port tack.

Directly the decks were cleared up, we went to breakfast.

Meanwhile, directly the mate came aft, all the old man’s bottled-up wrath overflowed, and he fairly let the mate have it, raking him fore and aft with his cutting tongue as he stamped up and down, stopping every turn to shake his fist at the mate as he stood without answering a word.

“An’ ye call ye’self a sailor! I guess you ain’t used to square-riggers; it ain’t the same thing as a fore-and-aft yacht, you know,” with biting, sneering sarcasm.

On and on he raved; we caught snatches of it high above the gale. It was the worst row they have had yet, and all hands turned out to watch it.

“Ain’t ye got nothing to say? are you made of wood? Damn it! what good are you at all I’d like to know? Call yourself fit to be mate of a ship like this! you’re only a steamboat sailor, that’s what you are, a blasted bridge stanchion.”

It was the greatest insult he could think of, calling the mate a steamboat sailor, and one the mate did not relish, for he was a fine seaman, almost as good as the old man, and, like him, had never been in a steamer in his life.

Meanwhile the second mate, with his back turned to the old man, leant over the break of the poop and soliloquised in a loud undertone:

“Oh, you beauty! Captain Bailey; oh, but you’re a beauty! Go it! why don’t you call him a liar, and a thief, and a robber! Oh, you bad-tempered old man; hit him, won’t ye! why don’t you eat him! Curse you! you’ll stamp in the poop if you’re not careful! How’s your liver this morning? pretty so-so, eh? Oh, you devil you! couldn’t I kill you, couldn’t I jump on you, couldn’t I bust ye head in!--oh, but I will some day, if ye don’t mind, curse you!”

At last the old man rushed below, snorting with fury, and the show was over, and we went to our regal repast.

Lat. 46°.55 N., long. 17°.58 W. Course--N. 64 W. Run 57 miles.

We lost 50 miles last night as we drifted to leeward.

_Friday, 22nd December._--We had a busy night of it setting sail again, and at 8 A.M. she was under whole foresail, upper-topsails, lower-topgallant sails and staysails.

The morning broke, a cold wintry day, the sea running high, a dirty slate colour, and a strong wind streaking it with white.

Lat. 47°.07 N., long. 16°.19 W. Run 68 miles.

During my wheel in the afternoon I brought her up to N.N.E., but in the dog watch she broke off to E. by N. again. Alas! again this head wind destroys all hopes of Christmas on dry land.

Higgins, Mac, and I have been busy all day in the captain’s cabin polishing the woodwork with a concoction of oil and mustard.

_Saturday, 23rd December._--We passed two steamers during the night; we are right in the track of the American liners now.

A fine strong breeze from the north-west; going about 7 knots under all sail.

Lat. 48°.32 N., long. 13°.57 W. Course--N. 49 W. Run 127 miles.

We got the wire cables out to-day, as we were only 220 miles from Queenstown this evening at 8 P.M.

_Sunday, 24th December._--Breeze still fine and strong, and a fairish sea running.

The second mate, Mac, and I marked out the lead-line this morning.

There are two kinds of lines for “heaving the lead,”--the “hand-line,” 20 fathoms long, and the “deep-sea lead,” of over 200 fathoms.

At the bottom of the lead is a hollow, which is filled up with tallow, so that when it touches the bottom, fine shells, sand, mud, or whatever the bottom is composed of, will stick to it; and as the description of the bottom is always indicated in the chart, this helps you to know your position.

This putting of tallow on the bottom is called “arming” it.

The lead of a hand-line weighs close on 14 pounds, and the deep-sea lead, 36 pounds in weight, takes nearly half an hour to reach a bottom of a mile.

The hand-line is divided into “marks” and “deeps.” At 2 fathoms there is a piece of leather with two tails; at 3, leather with three tails; at 5, a piece of white rag; at 7, a piece of red rag, and so on.

Whilst we were below this afternoon, Mac and I were awakened by a heavy squall, which caught us aback, and kept the port watch busy for some time.

Alas! the wind had broken off, and deeply did we growl. Presently Scar poked his head in, very hot and angry.

“How’s she heading?” we both cried.

“She was going about south-east when I was on the poop last,” he said coolly.

Words could hardly express our feelings.

“Well, of all the confounded Jonahs, your watch take the blooming biscuit,” growled Mac, and then lay back and cursed to himself until he was worn out.

The pair of us really felt that we had got a grievance against the port watch, and were quite angry with them, as if it was their fault.

Presently Scar poked his head in again and said,

“The old man’s heading for Falmouth.”

The air in the half-deck became thick and blue with our combined efforts at abusing the capricious wind.

It was my wheel in the first dog watch, and at four bells I went below a proud man, for I had brought her up to E. by N. 1/2 N., and away we went for Queenstown again.

We took in the royals and light sails in the first watch.

A very cold night. We expect to sight the coast of Ireland early to-morrow morning. We set all sail again during the night, and got up the last of the cables in the middle watch.