Windjammers and Sea Tramps

LIFE AMONG THE PACKET RATS

It is a noteworthy fact that many of the featherbrained, harum-scarum captains endeavoured to man their vessels with men who had been trained in north-country colliers. These men were considered not only the best, but the most subordinate in the world. Perhaps this was correct, but I think the west countrymen could claim a good place in point of seamanship, if not of subordination. I remember hearing the captain of an Australian passenger vessel making this complimentary statement of north-country men to my father, when I was a very small boy, and I learnt by experience many years afterwards that it was true. Life aboard some of the packet ships was a chronic convulsion of devilry. The majority of the men constituting the crew were termed "packet rats," and were the scrapings of British and foreign scoundrelism. No wonder the captains were anxious to have a proportion of fine, able-bodied north-country sailors, as a steadying influence on the devil-may-care portion of the crew. The signing on of a packet ship was quite an historic occasion. All the "gimlet-eyed" rascals in town were on the alert to bleed the sailor as soon as he had got his advance. It was usual for the sailors to sign articles binding themselves to be aboard at 5.30 or 6 a.m. on a fixed date, and in order that there might be no mistake as to how the discipline of the vessel was to be administered, the officers, who were generally Yankees, or aped the habits and manners of the Yankee, were stationed at the gangways for the purpose of suitably receiving the wretched, drink-sodden, semi-delirious creatures who were to constitute part of the crew. They were carted to the vessel, accompanied by animals opprobriously called "crimps," whose unrestrained appetite for plunder was a scandal to the public authority who permitted their existence. After these noxious gentry had sucked the blood of their victims, the latter were handed over to the officers who awaited their arrival at the gangway. Having arrived late, and in a condition contrary to the orthodox opinions of their officer, they were asked in strong nasal language why they did not turn up at 6 a.m.

"Do you know," the slap-dashing mate would say, "that you have committed a breach of discipline that cannot be overlooked on this craft?"

The half-drunken, whiskey-soaked creature would reply in an incoherent, semi-insolent way, whereupon the mate would haul out a belaying pin and belabour him with it. Many a criminal act of this kind was committed, and if the men as a body retaliated, they were shot at, or knuckle-dustered, until their faces and bodies were beaten into a pulp. This was called mutiny; so in addition to being brutally maltreated, there could be found, both at home and abroad, gentlemen in authority who had them sent to prison, and who confiscated their pay. Many of them were punished until they agreed to sign the entry in the official log against themselves.

It may be thought that these officers were justified in the initial stages of the voyage in striking terror into the minds of these men, so that their criminal instincts might be kept in check. I am well aware of the risks and responsibilities attending the control of a terrible class of persons such as the American "packet rat," and it is difficult to write of them with calmness of judgment. They were undoubtedly collections of incorrigible ruffians such as could not have been easily employed in any other class of British or American vessel. At the same time, it must be remembered that the officers of these crafts were not selected because of their pre-disposition to piety. It was because of their predilection for living in a chronic atmosphere of "Almighty Hell." They were trained to it, and were apt pupils. They saw a glory in the continuity of combat that raged from the beginning until the end of a voyage. It is worthy of note that, with few exceptions, they never allowed themselves to be overcome, though many a futile attempt was made. Poor devils of sailors! Many a voyage they made without receiving a penny for it, every cent of their wages being confiscated in fines and forfeitures. How many may have lost their lives during the progress of such passages, ostensibly by accidentally falling overboard, will never be known. I have heard old salts talk of these vessels never being hove to to pick up any of the unfortunate riff-raff who may have made a false step into the ocean. This may or may not be true; but from what I know of the desperate character of those commanders and officers, I am inclined to give credence to a good deal of what is said to have occurred.

The really first-class seamen on these vessels (both American and British) were treated not only with fairness, but very often with indulgence. It was not unusual, however, for them to have to fight their way to having proper respect paid to them. The expert seaman, who could box as well as he could handle a marline spike or use a sail-needle, appealed to the sympathies of the captain and officers. It must not be supposed that either the officers or men who were thought good enough to sail in these vessels were in any degree representative of the great bulk of British captains, officers, or men. At the same time, I do not mean to suggest that the rest of the mercantile marine was, or ever could be, composed of Puritans. But the men I have been trying to describe were the very antithesis of the typical British tar. Many of them were, constitutionally, criminals, who had spent years compulsorily on the Spanish main, when not undergoing punishment in prison. Having been shipmate with some of them I am able to speak of their character with some claim to authority. They were big bullies, and consequently abject cowards. The tales I have heard them relate before and during their sojourn on the Spanish main reeked with a villainous odour. They always commenced their bullying tactics as soon as they came aboard, especially if the vessel had apparently a quiet set of officers and a peaceful captain. They did not always gauge aright the pugilistic capacity of some of their forecastle brethren, and so it came to pass that once one of these six-feet-four rampaging creatures was threatening annihilation to a little forecastle colony, and, indeed, to the after-end colonists also, when there was heard, amid a flow of sulphurous curses, a quiet, defiant word of disapproval. It came from a Scottish able seaman who had served long in American sailing vessels. The orator promptly struck out at the semi-inanimate Sandy, who woke up, went for his man in true British style, and had him howling for mercy in less than two minutes. The Scottish sailor became the idol of the captain and crew, and the Yankee bullies deserted at the first port the vessel touched at. In 1871 I shipped aboard a barque in Liverpool as chief officer. I was very young, and what perhaps was more sinful, very youthful looking. The captain was only two years my senior, and the second mate four. There was a scarcity of desirable men available, which resulted in our having to engage what we could get, and, with the exception of three respectable men, the rest were "packet rats," though few of them had sailed in packets, and those who had were stamped with the mark of it. We left Birkenhead in tow. There was a strong wind blowing. It was my duty to see the anchors stowed properly. I gave orders to man the fish tackle, and directed one of the men to pinch the flukes of the anchor on to the gunwale while the crew were hauling on the tackle. He looked at me for a minute or two as though he were undecided as to the condition of his hearing and his eyesight. I repeated the order in authoritative quarter-deck style. He gaped in amazement apparently at my audacity, and told me in language that could not be overlooked there (or repeated here!) to do myself what I had ordered him to do. I became at once conscious of my youthful appearance! I assured him that I would stand no nonsense, and perhaps to awaken him to the possibilities of a physical encounter, I used some Americanisms that were obviously familiar to him and to the others who were ready to act with him. I insisted that the orders I had given should be carried out. He sneered at my youth, and intimated, with a grin that foreboded cannibalism, that he had eaten many a more manly-looking person than myself before breakfast, and that he would stand no G—— d—— cheek from a son of a—— like me! "Do it yourself," said he, "I won't," and suiting the action to the words, he tossed the handspike on to the top-gallant forecastle. I instantly picked it up, and it was all over his body before he had time to recover from the effect of so sudden an attack. The captain had told me that I was to beware of treachery, and to remember the advantage of the first blow. "Hit," said he, "right between the eyes, and see to it that it makes sparks!" I did not expect that the necessity would arise so soon after leaving the docks, and I must plead guilty to inaccurately carrying out the captain's suggestion, except in so far as the first blow was concerned, which was quickly and decisively struck, although not precisely between the eyes. There were visible signs that the head and face of the rebel had sustained damage; and it may be taken for granted that other parts of his body did not escape. He intimated that for the present he wanted no more, and I was secretly glad of it because I had been severely punished myself, although my general appearance did not show it much. Surely the only course open to me after so unjustifiable an attack was to resent not only the insubordination, but the filthy personal attack on myself. We had not arrived at the N.W. lightship where the tug was to cast off the tow-rope when this rebellion began, and it continued more or less until the vessel arrived at her destination, where the whole of the refractory ones were put in prison and kept there until she was ready to sail. They were then brought aboard by police escort. Prison diet and prison treatment had knocked a lot of the fight out of them, but the ship food soon revived the devil in them again. We had not been at sea many days before they commenced to revolt even against steering and making or shortening sail. It was only by the application of stringent measures that they were kept in subjection. It was found necessary for the captain and officers not only to lock their state-room doors when in bed, but to keep themselves well armed in case of a sudden rising. The suspense of it was terrible. We knew that a slight relaxation in the stern disciplinary attitude might give them an opportunity which they would be quick to take advantage of; it was therefore resolutely adhered to. The captain instilled into his officers the doctrine of keeping them always at work, bad weather or fine. "Make them permanently tired," said he; "make them feel fit for their bunks." That was all very well, but in order to carry this out the officers were kept permanently tired also.

Though many years have elapsed since those troubled days and nights, the memory of them is still with me, watching, working, wakeful, always on the alert, anticipating assassination; even my brief sleep was troubled with visions of sanguinary conflict. It was no mere delusion. Each day brought evidences of coming trouble. How and when it would come did not matter, so long as we were prepared for it. Whisperings and audible grumblings were ominous tokens of what was in the wind. The captain and I had some conversation concerning the situation. He was of opinion that the sailor who opened the rebellion at the beginning of the voyage would lead an open and concerted revolt, and perhaps I agreed with him that something of the sort might easily happen; so we resolved to keep a tight eye on this sinister development. One night about ten o'clock, while beating through a narrow channel, the captain said to me, "I am going below; you must take charge." And after giving me the necessary instructions, he said in a low tone, "Now mind, keep your eyes and ears wide open; you may be taken unawares at any moment." I thanked him for the advice, and he bade me good-night and left the poop. An Irishman was at the wheel, and for a time his steering was good. As the wind was dead in our teeth and blowing strong, the course was full and by the wind. It soon became necessary to tack, and as it is always customary for the officer in charge to take the helm in performing this evolution, it became my duty to do so, but as soon as the vessel was round, I told the man to take the wheel again. I then proceeded to see that all the sails were properly trimmed. This being done, I went on to the poop again, and as the helmsman was steering in a most erratic fashion, first sailing her bang off the wind and then shaking the sails almost aback, I remonstrated with him, but to no purpose. At last I said to him that if he did not steer better, I would be obliged to turn him from the wheel. No greater disgrace can be inflicted on a self-respecting seaman than this. I have known men suffer an agony by the mere threat of it. But the heterogeneous crew that we had to control had no sensitiveness of that kind. I was told, amid a running stream of filthy swearing, to take the wheel myself. The ship and all in authority were cursed with Hibernian fluency. A special appeal was made for our immediate consignment to the hottest part of hell. The harangue was suddenly cut short by my jumping from the poop on top of him as he was about to pass away from the helm. I had ordered a hand whom I could trust to steer, while I became engaged in physically reproving this blackguard for his insolence and disobedience to lawful commands. During my struggle with him I felt a sharp prick as though a pin had been run into me, but owing to the excitement of the moment I took no further notice of it—indeed, I was too busy to notice anything. The job did not prove so difficult as I had anticipated. His accomplices did not come to his assistance, and he evidently lost heart and became effusively submissive. The captain relieved me at midnight, and I returned to my berth. I was awakened during the watch by some one tapping at my door. It turned out to be the captain. When I admitted him he showed me a knife which he had picked up on the deck, and asked if I knew whom it belonged to. I said "Yes, it belongs to the Irishman." "Well," said he, "it was evidently his intention to bleed you." I was sitting up in my bunk, and suddenly observed a clot of blood on my shirt, and said to him, "I have been stabbed. Look at this." I examined myself, and found a slight cut where I had felt the sensation which I have spoken of. We conferred as to whether he should be put in irons, and given up to the authorities at the first port the vessel touched at. I asked to be allowed to deal with him when he came on deck, and it was agreed that I should. He was in due course ordered aft, and the knife shown to him. When asked if it was his, he became afflicted with fear, and admitted that he had attempted to stab me, and begged that he should not be further punished, and if he were allowed to resume his duty he promised with emotional profusion to give no further annoyance to any one. The appeal was pathetic; it would have been an act of vindictive cruelty not to have granted what he asked; though his conduct in conjunction with the others had up to that time been vicious in the extreme. It was thought desirable to give his promises a test, with the result that he gave no outward signs of violating them while the voyage lasted.

These men were mutineers by profession. Sentiment, or what is called moral suasion, was unintelligible to them. They were a species of wild beast that could only be tamed by the knowledge that they were weaker than the power set over them; and this could only be conveyed in one way that was understandable to them: that is, by coming down to their level for the time being, and smashing their courage (and their heads if need be) with electrical suddenness. If there was any hesitation, depend upon it they would smash you. The moralist will declaim against the adoption of such a doctrine, and will bring theoretic arguments in support of his theories; but before commencing a tirade against an unavoidable method, perhaps the moralist will state whether he has ever been confronted with a situation which might involve not only the unlawful absorption of supreme control, but the sacrifice of life and valuable property as a consequence of it. Let me put this proposition to them. Here is a vessel, it may be, out on a trackless ocean hundreds of miles from land, her forecastle hands consisting of a gang of murderous ruffians ready to make lawful authority impotent, and, if need be, to enforce their own by overpowering the captain and officers and making an opportunity for mutiny. Let the moralists think of it; four or five men at the mercy of a score of hang-dog scoundrels who despise every moral law, and who talk lightly of murder and every form of violent death! Let me ask them what their feelings would be suppose any of their near relations were placed in the position of having to fight for lawful supremacy and even for life? I think this might be trying to their faith in theoretic and sentimental government. But the question might be made more impressive still by devoting a chapter to the hideous butchery which horrified creation when the news came of the mutiny of the Flowery Land and the Caswell. I should like people who are so deadly virtuous as to repudiate self-preservation to picture the decks of these two vessels washed in human blood, and to imagine (if it is not too dreadful to do so) that some of it belonged to a kinsman who was very dear to them. I think if they are not past praying for they would then give up dispensing cant, and direct their sympathies to a policy that has the merit of being not only humane but logical. I well know how narrow the dividing line is between proper and improper discipline; and know also the care that should be used in such circumstances to act with fairness and even kindness. But I am writing about a section of men who mistake kindness for weakness, and who can only be appealed to and swayed by the magic of fear. I could find material to fill a three-hundred page book with the experiences of that one eventful and hazardous voyage. Space forbids my giving more than a brief account of it.

After ten months' absence from Liverpool we arrived at Antwerp. The conduct of some of the crew had been so shocking that they feared the penalty of it, and they absconded immediately on arrival, and were never heard of by us again. The Irishman fulfilled his pledge so thoroughly that he was not only pardoned but kept by the vessel. The more defiant of them saw the thing through, and received only a portion of their wages, the bulk of it being deducted for fines and forfeitures. I am bound to say these men got what they richly deserved. They had on several occasions endangered the safety of a handsome and valuable vessel and the lives of all aboard. But for the loyalty of the petty officers and the unyielding firmness of a strong, capable captain underwriters would have had a heavy loss to pay for.

The tale I have been unfolding shows one unwholesome and vicious aspect of sailor life. There is, happily, a more attractive, peaceful, and manifestly brighter and purer aspect; and those who live in it are beloved by every one.

BRUTALITY AT SEA

In those days the deep-sea shipmaster looked upon the collier skipper as his inferior in everything, and regarded himself in the light of an important personage. His bearing was that of a man who believed that he was sent into the world so that great deeds might be accomplished. He lavishly patronised everybody, and never disguised his desire to repudiate all connection with his less imposing fellow-worker in a different sphere. He would pace the poop or quarter-deck of his vessel with the air of a monarch. Sometimes a slight omission of deference to his monarchy would take place on the part of officers or crew. That was an infringement of dignity which had to be promptly reproved by stern disciplinary measures.

There were various methods open to him of inflicting chastisement. An offending officer was usually ordered to his berth for twenty-four hours—that is put off duty. The seamen's offences were rigorously atoned for by their being what is called "worked up," i.e., kept on duty during their watch below; or, what was more provoking still, they might be ordered to "sweat up" sails that they knew did not require touching. This idle aggravation was frequently carried out with the object of getting the men to revolt; they were then logged for refusing duty and their pay stopped at the end of the voyage. It was not an infrequent occurrence for grown men to be handcuffed for some minor offence that should never have been noticed. The sight of human suffering and degradation was an agreeable excitement to this class of officer or captain. If some of the villainy committed in the name of the law at sea were to be written, it would be a revolting revelation of wickedness, of unheard-of cruelty. Small cabin-boys who had not seen more than twelve summers were good sport for frosty-blooded scoundrels to rope's-end or otherwise brutally use, because they failed to do their part in stowing a royal or in some other way showed indications of limited strength or lack of knowledge. The barbarous creed of the whole class was to lash their subjects to their duties. A little fellow, well known to myself, who had not reached his thirteenth year, had his eyes blacked and his little body scandalously maltreated because he had been made nervous by continuous bullying, and did not steer so well as he might have done had he been left alone. It is almost incredible, but it is true, some of these rascals would at times have men hung up by their thumbs in the mizen rigging for having committed what would be considered nowadays a most trivial offence.

One gentleman, well known in his time by the name of Bully W——, stood on the poop of the square-rigged ship Challenge, and shot a seaman who was at work on the main yardarm! It was never known precisely why he did it; but it was well known that had he not made his exit from the cabin windows, and had he not received assistance to escape, he would have been lynched by a furious public. This man once commanded a crack, square-rigged clipper called the Flying Cloud. His passages between New York and San Francisco were a marvel to everybody. He was credited, as many others like him have been, with having direct communication with the devil, and is said never to have voluntarily taken canvas in. He was one of those who used to lock tacks and sheets, so that if the officers were overcome by fear they could not shorten canvas. His fame spread until it was considered an honour to look upon him, much less to know him. He became the object of adoration, and perhaps his knowledge of this swelled his conceit, so that he came to believe that even the shooting of his seamen was not a murderous, but a permissible act, so far as he was concerned. But this man was only one among scores like him.

There was once a famous captain of a well-known Australian clipper, a slashing, dare-devil fellow, who made the quickest passages to and from Australia on record. But at last he lost his head, and then of course his money, and died in very pinched circumstances. Poor fellow, he couldn't stand corn! The people of Liverpool gave a banquet in honour of him. He arrived late in the banqueting hall, and there were indications that he was inebriated. When he had to respond to the toast of his health he shocked his audience by stating that he would either be in hell or in Melbourne in so many days from the time of sailing. Destiny ordained that he was not to be in hell, and not in Melbourne either—only hard and fast on Australian rocks! His misfortunes and his habits soon put an end to his professional career, but his deeds are deservedly talked of to this day. He was undoubtedly one of the smartest men of his time, and ought to have been saved from the end that befell him.

Captains who claimed public attention for reasons that would not now be looked upon with favour were usually known by the opprobrious name of "Bully this" or "Bully that;" but "Jack the Devil" and "Hell Fire Jack" were perhaps as widely used names as any others. There were various causes for the acquisition of such distinction. It was generally the fearless way in which they carried sail, and their harsh, brutal treatment of their crews that fixed the epithet upon them. I am quite sure many of them were proud of it. They were conscious of having done something to deserve it. It will appear strange that seamen should have been found to sail with such commanders; not only could they be found, but many were even eager to sail with them, the reason being that they desired to share some of the notoriety which their captains had acquired. They loved to talk of having sailed in a vessel made famous by the person who commanded her, even if he were a bully! His heroics were made an everlasting theme. The A.B.s rarely made more than one voyage with him; many of them deserted even at the first port. The dreadful usage, and the fear of being killed or drowned, were too much for them sometimes.

BRAVERY

Amid the many sides of the average sailor's character there is none that stands out so prominently as that of bravery and resourcefulness. Here is an instance of both qualities. Three or four years ago a Russian Nihilist made his escape from the Siberian mines and travelled to Vladivostock. A British ship was lying there, and the poor refugee came aboard and claimed the protection of her captain. The vessel could not sail for a few days, which gave his pursuers an opportunity of overtaking him. They got to know where he was, and proceeded to demand that he should be given up. They relied, as many other whipper-snappers do, on the importance of their official position and the glitter of their elaborate uniform to strike awe and terror into the soul of the British captain! They soon found out what a mistake they had made. "Gentlemen," said the resolute commander, "the person whom you call your prisoner has placed himself under the protection of the British flag. A British ship is British territory, hence he is a free man, and I must request that you cease to molest us or make any attempt to take him by force." They urged Imperial penalties and international complications; but this brave and resourceful man disregarded their threats, again reminding them that he stood on the deck of a British vessel; and that if they did anything in violation of his power and authority, complications would arise from his side instead of from theirs. He was allowed to sail with his interesting passenger aboard, and I hope the latter was genuinely grateful to his heroic protector for ever after. The name of such a man should be covered with imperishable fame.

Here is another bit of quiet bravery, loftier than the slaughter, in hot or cold blood, of one's fellow-creatures! About twenty-eight or twenty-nine years ago, a German vessel ran into and sank off Dungeness an emigrant ship called the North Fleet. She was a fine vessel. Her commander had married a young lady a few days before sailing from London, and she accompanied him on the voyage. When the collision occurred there was a rush made for the boats. Men clamoured for a place to the exclusion of women and children! The captain called out that he would shoot the first man who prevented or did not assist the women to save themselves, and I believe he had reason to put his threat into practice. He stood on the poop with his revolver in hand ready for action. When the proper time came, he asked his bride to take his arm, and led her to the gangway. They kissed each other affectionately. He whispered in her ear, "Courage, dear, I must do my duty." Then he handed her into the boat which was in charge of an officer, and exhorted him to take special care of her whom he had so recently led from the altar and to whom he had said his last farewell! He then proceeded to his post on the quarter-deck, and stood there until the vessel sank and the sea flowed over him. The opinion at the time was that he could have saved his life if he had made an effort to do so. I question this very much, as many of the people were picked up in the water, clinging to wreckage; the boats being overcrowded. The only way by which he could have been saved was to displace some one or clutch at a piece of wreck. He preferred death to the former, and there is no evidence that he did not attempt to save himself by means of the latter. The probability is that he gave any such opportunity to some drowning man or woman, and sacrificed himself. Honour to this brave man who died, not while taking life, but in saving it!

CHANTIES

The signing on and the sailing from Liverpool or London docks of these vessels were not only exciting but pathetic occasions. The chief officer usually had authority to pick the crew. The men would be brought into the yard and formed into line. The chanty-man was generally the first selection, and care was taken that the balance should be good choristers, and that all were able to produce good discharges for conduct and ability. It was a great sight to see the majestic-looking vessels sail away. The dock walls would be crowded with sympathetic audiences who had come not only to say farewell, but to listen to the sweet though sombre refrain that charged the air with the enchanting pathos and beauty of "Goodbye, fare you well." The like of it has never been heard since those days. Attempts have been made to reproduce the original, and have failed. Nobody can reproduce anything like it, because it is a gift exclusively the sailors' own, and the charm filled the soul with delightful emotions that caught you like a strong wind.

The chanty-man was a distinguished person whom it was impolitic to ignore. He was supposed to combine the genius of a musical prodigy and an impromptu poet! If his composition was directed to any real or even imaginary grievances, it was always listened to by sensible captains and officers without showing any indications of ill-humour. Indeed, I have seen captains laugh very heartily at these exquisite comic thrusts which were intended to shape the policy of himself and his officers towards the crew. If the captain happened to be a person of no humour and without the sense of music this method of conveyance was abortive, but it went on all the same until nature forced a glimpse into his hazy mind of what it all meant! Happily there are few sailors who inherit such a defective nature. It is a good thing that some of these thrilling old songs have been preserved to us. Even if they do not convey an accurate impression of the sailors' way of rendering them, they give some faint idea of it. The complicated arrangement of words in some of the songs is without parallel in their peculiar jargon, and yet there are point and intention evident throughout them. For setting sail, "Blow, boys, blow" was greatly favoured, and its quivering, weird air had a wild fascination in it. "Boney was a warrior" was singularly popular, and was nearly always sung in hoisting the topsails. The chanty-man would sit on the topsail halyard block and sing the solo, while the choristers rang out with touching beauty the chorus, at the same time giving two long, strong pulls on the halyards. This song related mainly to matters of history, and was sung with a rippling tenderness which seemed to convey that the singers' sympathies were with the Imperial martyr who was kidnapped into exile and to death by a murderous section of the British aristocracy. The soloist warbled the great Emperor's praises, and portrayed him as having affinity to the godlike. His death was proclaimed as the most atrocious crime committed since the Crucifixion, and purgatory was assigned as a fitting repository for the souls of his mean executioners. The words of these songs may be distressing jargon, but the refrain as sung by the seamen was very fine to listen to:—

As for the song itself, it was as follows:—

This song never failed to arouse the greatest enthusiasm, so much so that the officer in charge had to keep a keen eye on what was going on and shout out "belay!" before something should be broken! The sailors' regard for the great Emperor was a passion; and as they neared the final tragedy they seemed to imagine they were in combat with his foes, so that it was dangerous to leave them without strict supervision.

One of the most rollicking and joyous days the sailor had during a voyage was that on which his dead horse expired; that is, when his month's advance was worked out. If he took a month's advance, he always considered that he had worked that month for nothing: and, literally, he had done so, as the money given to him in advance usually went towards paying a debt or having a spree; so it was fitting, considering these circumstances, that special recognition should be made of the arrival of such a period. An improvised horse was therefore constructed, and a block with a rope rove through it was hooked on to the main yardarm. The horse was bent on, and the ceremony commenced by leading the rope to the winch or capstan, and the song entitled "The Dead Horse" was sung with great gusto. The funeral procession as a rule was spun out a long time, and when the horse was allowed to arrive at the yard arm the rope was slipped and he fell into the sea amid much hilarity! The verse which announces his death was as follows:—

The verse which extinguishes him by dropping him into the sea goes like this:—

This finished the important event of the voyage; then began many pledges of thrift to be observed for evermore, which were never kept longer than the arrival at the next port, or at the longest until the arrival at a home port, when restraint was loosened. The same old habits were resumed, and the same old month's advance was required before sailing on another voyage.

The "White Stocking Day" was as great an event ashore as the Dead Horse day was at sea. The sailors' wives, mothers, or sweethearts always celebrated half-pay day by wearing white stockings and by carrying their skirts discreetly high enough so that it might be observed. This custom was carried out with rigid regularity, and the participators were the objects of sympathetic attraction. Poor things, there is no telling what it cost them in anxiety to keep it up. Their half-pay would not exceed thirty shillings per month, and they had much to do with it, besides providing white stockings and a suitable rig to grace the occasion.

"We're homeward bound and I hear the sound," was the favourite song when heaving up the anchor preparatory to pointing homeward. This chanty has a silken, melancholy, and somewhat soft breeziness about it, and when it was well sung its flow went fluttering over the harbour, which re-echoed the joyous tidings until soloist and choristers alike became entranced by the power of their own performances; and the multitudes who on these occasions came to listen did not escape the rapture of the fleeting throbs of harmony which charged the atmosphere, and made you feel that you would like to live under such sensations for ever!

After a long, dreary pilgrimage of trackless oceans, the last chant had to be sung as their vessel was being warped through the docks to her discharging berth; and now all their grievances, joys, and sorrows were poured forth in "Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!" It was their last chance of publicly announcing approval or disapproval of their ship, their captain, and their treatment. Here is a sample of it:—

Such songs were not stereotyped in their composition. They varied according to circumstances. Sometimes they were denunciatory, and at other times full of fun, praise of the ship, and pathos. There was seldom a middle course, but whatever side was taken the spontaneous poetic effusion was not ended until the whole story had been unfolded.

JACK IN RATCLIFF HIGHWAY

As soon as the vessel was moored in a home port, decks cleared up and washed down, the mate intimated to the crew that their services would not be required any longer; and those who wanted it, received a portion of the balance of wages due to them in advance until they signed clear of the articles. There were few who did not take advantage of this, and many of them had disbursed it in one way or another long before the three days' grace, which was allowed the captain to make up his accounts and pay off, had expired.

The villainous agencies at work in those days (and even in these) to decoy poor Jack, could be counted by the score. Their task was not a difficult one. They knew him to be a complacent prey for their plans to drug and rob him. Many of these poor fellows on the first night after landing would allow the whole of a voyage's earnings to be bartered from them, so that before they actually received their balance of wages they had spent it, and they became ready for the first ship, which oft-times, indeed, was long in turning up. Meanwhile they were turned into the street without any compunction, just as they stood. Of course they were to blame; but what about the evil tribe who tempted them? They should have been made to refund every penny that had been extorted while their victims were under the influence of drink, or should have been made to do six months in lieu of refunding. This plan might be adopted with advantage to the community even at the present time.

In these sailor circles there was once a well-known incorrigible named Jimmie Hall, a native of Blyth, who for the most part sailed out of London on long voyages. It did not matter how long Jimmie had been away on a voyage, or how much pay he had to take, he was never longer than a week in funds, and more frequently only one or two days. This half-tamed creature was walking up Ratcliffe Highway one winter morning between two and three o'clock, and he met an old shipmate of his. They greeted each other with some warmth. Jimmie's friend related to him a tale of destitution. He had been on the spree, spent all his money, and two days before had been turned out of the boarding house, and had slept out for two nights. Jimmie, with sailor-like generosity, said, "I am glad to have met you. It gives me an opportunity of asking you to share with me rooms at my hotel."

"Hotel!" gasped the bewildered shipmate. "Have you had money left you? You always were a good sort."

"No," said his companion; "I have had no money left me, but I thought I would stay in an hotel this time. I can go out and in whenever I like, and I find it an advantage to do so. The doors are always open. Come along!"

The two friends walked up the highway arm in arm, Jimmie observing a patronising silence while his companion covered him with affectionate compliments. After they had walked a considerable distance in meditation, the shipmate said—

"Where is the hotel? Are we far off?"

"No," said the accommodating Jimmie; "here it is. I must make one condition with you before we get any nearer. You must go in by the back door."

"I will go in by any b—— door you like. I am not a particular chap in that way!"

"Very well," said Jimmie, pointing to an object in the middle of the road; "then you go in there, and I will go in by the front."

"But," said his shipmate, "that is a boiler."

"You" said the philanthropic James, "may call it what you like, but, for the time being, it is my hotel! It has been my residence for two weeks, and I offer you the end I do not use. If you accept it, all that you require to make you perfectly comfortable is a bundle of straw. We shall sit rent free!"

Needless to say the offer was accepted, and the two "plants" lived together until they got a ship.

Mr. Hall's knowledge of the Highway, as it was called, enabled him to be of occasional service to the police, hence he was on the most cordial terms of friendship with them. He could swoop plain-clothes men through intricacies which flashed with the flames of crime, without exciting the slightest suspicion of the object he had in view. He could talk, swear, and drink in accurate harmony with his acquaintances, and was looked upon with favour by a circle of estimable friends. Members of the constabulary were always considerate and accommodating towards him during his periodic outbursts of alcoholic craving. He owed much to the care they took of him during his fits of debauchery; and he was not unmindful of it when he had the wherewithal to compensate them. Like most of those wayward inebriates who followed the sea as a calling, he was a perfect sailor; and even his capricious sensual habits did not prevent him being sought to rejoin vessels he had sailed in.

Jimmie Hall was only one among thousands of fine fellows who were encouraged to go to bestial excesses by gangs of predatory vermin (men and women) who infested Wapping and Ratcliffe Highway.

There was a tradition amongst sailors, which I am inclined to give some credence to, that a certain barber who had a shop in the Highway availed himself of the opportunity, while cutting the hair or shaving his sailor customers—mainly, it was thought, those who were sodden with drink—to sever their wind-pipe, rob them of all they had, and then pull the bolt of a carefully concealed trap-door which communicated with the Thames, and drop their weighted bodies out of sight! This system of sanguinary murder is supposed to have been carried on for some years, until a sailor of great physical power, suspecting foul play to some of his pals, went boldly in, was politely asked to take his seat, and assumed a drunken attitude which caused the barber to think he had an easy victim. The barber wormed his way into Jack's confidence, who was very communicative as to the length of his voyage and the amount of money he had been paid off with. He flattered him with loving profusion, and was about to take the razor up and commence his deadly work, when the sailor, who had discerned the secret trap, jumped up, pulled a revolver from his pocket, and demanded that the trap-door should be shown to him, or his brains would be scattered all over the place! The barber implored that his life should be spared, and piteously denied the existence of a secret communication with the river. Jack's attitude was threatening; the supplicant pleaded that if his life was spared he would do what was asked of him. The condition was agreed on, and the trap opened. It disclosed a liquid vault. The sailor accused the panic-stricken villain of foul murder, and of having this place as a repository for his unsuspecting victims, and the man shrieked alternate incoherent denials and confessions. The sailor suspected the awful truth all along, but now he became satisfied of it, and forcing the barber towards the vault, he ordered him to jump down; he had to choose between this and being shot. He preferred the former mode of extinction, so plunged in. The hatch was then covered over him, and there were no more murders.