Our job was now to get to the entrance of the Canal, which is situated at the bottom of the bight of the Gulf of Panama. It is a most difficult one for a sailing vessel. Roughly speaking, currents from the south-east may be said to sweep round its coasts, and to form of the Gulf one vast eddy. Here, throughout the year, persist calms and catspaws from all directions, rain, lightning, and squalls: the whole caboodleum of the Doldrums, plus a complex tangle of irregular currents. In addition to the foregoing joys, there is, towards the head of the Gulf, a large area studded with islands, rocks, and coral patches. From this archipelago have been obtained, from the earliest times, at the price of infamous cruelty, a large supply of the finest pearls—the group is called the Pearl Islands.
“A vessel unaided by steam power will experience considerable difficulty and delay in getting out of Panama Bay,” say the Sailing Directions. She will: and so she does in getting into it. There is a well-known yarn of a ship being here carried round and round for a year or so, in the olden days, until her people had nearly all perished from scurvy. Some of the American newspapers got hold of this story and said we had found and relieved her, giving pathetic details. In our case, though we had a motor that gave us 5½ knots through the water, we found that our only course was to allow ourselves to be carried right across the mouth of the Gulf to the Colombian coast, and then to work up along the coast of the Isthmus of Darien, i.e. along the eastern shore of the Gulf of Panama.
The following summary of our log will show what things are like. We left Fea Harbour, Quibo Island, at 8.10 a.m. on Thursday, March the 9th, and motored until noon. Then got the canvas on her. Light airs: E.; N.N.E.; N.; S.S.E.; S.E.b.E. between noon and midnight. Made good 17½ miles. Much lightning all around in the first watch.
The middle watch of Friday the 10th had easterly airs that gave her an average of three knots, and much lightning. At 9.50 a.m. started motor and ran it until 0.50 p.m.; and again from 3.24 p.m. to 5.45 p.m. Notwithstanding our using power, it was 10 p.m. before the light on Cape Mala could be entered in the log as just dipping. The motor was only called upon when the current was setting her into what would be a dangerous position. This day we make good 38½ miles.
On Saturday, the 11th of March, we found there was a strong s’utherly set at 11 a.m., and a N.N.W. breeze, so, instead of steering to Panama, we altered course to take full advantage of the breeze to cross the Gulf. We passed from time to time well-defined current-ripples, with much rubbish floating in the dead water. During the afternoon the water became very dark and discoloured, but we got no bottom at 225 fms. At 10 p.m. however we got 55 fms., so we hove to and waited for the daylight. Our day’s run was 79 miles.
At earliest daylight on Sunday the 12th we bore away and at 7.15 a.m. made Cape Escarpado bearing N.42°E. The morning was very hazy with much mirage, and the land very difficult to recognise at any distance. We were now working to wind’ard to the entrance of the Pearl Islands. At 1.35 p.m. we started the motor, and at 4.50 p.m. brought up for the night in 13 fms. between Monge and Puercos islets, which lie off the east coast of the large Isla del Rey. We have done 60 miles to-day.
On Monday, the 13th of March, we made a start at 5 a.m., under sail, working against light airs from N.N.W. westerly. We were now being swept up into the Bight of Panama by the current, so all we had to do was to keep her nicely placed. At noon, when we were distant from Canal entrance 48 miles, we were obliged to start the motor, and did 16 miles under power, stopping it at 3.26 p.m. We then got a gentle N.W. breeze, which we kept till 11.40 p.m., when we brought up off the entrance of the Canal.
Early the next morning a harbour launch, with the Port Officials, came out to us. They told us that the Canal had been closed to all traffic for five months. According to them, our chance of being allowed to pass through was small indeed.
As soon as we had got pratique, we started in our launch for the shore, to learn our fate. From the Port of Balboa on the Pacific, to the Port of Colon on the Atlantic, is 44 miles by canal: by sea the distance is 10,500. If the Powers that Were would not let us through, we must practically again circumnavigate the whole continent of South America. We had already done it once to a very large extent: Pernambuco to Valparaiso. Was it to be our fate to do it a second time?
Though Mana was anchored close to the entrance of the fairway, yet she was hull-down on our looking back when we were abreast of the Balboa frontage, so great is the length of the dredged channel through the smooth shoal water of the Bay, before the Canal begins to have visible land on either side of it.
Messrs. Balfour, Guthrie & Co., of San Francisco, had most kindly advised their agents of our being en route, and consequently, when we landed at Balboa, there was a motor-car in waiting. We whisked off, got fresh meat and vegetables for the ship, put it aboard the launch, and despatched her with orders to return to take us off an hour before dark. Then we drove straight to the City of Panama to call on the British Minister, Sir Claud Mallet. He was most kind. He sent us under convoy of the Consul to see Colonel Harding, the acting chief of the Canal in the absence of Colonel Goethals. Colonel Harding was pleased to grant Mana the exceptional privilege of at once passing through the Canal, on the ground that she was a scientific research ship,—a favour for which we owe much gratitude both to him and to the Government which he represented. We have sometimes however regretted this stroke of luck, as, had we been compelled to take the s’utherly route, we should have been at Punta Arenas just at the time Sir Ernest Shackleton was there seeking a vessel to rescue his men from Elephant Island, a job for which Mana was eminently fitted.
In accordance with arrangements made, next morning a pilot came off and took us, under our own power, from the outer anchorage, up the dredged channel, to the mooring dolphins opposite Balboa, a distance of about 5 miles. Balboa is the name of a new town built by the Americans on the Eastern bank of the Pacific entrance of the Panama Canal. The ground on which it is situated is not flat, also there are a couple of isolated volcanic cones, that rise to a height of 363 feet and 650 feet respectively, in its midst. A fine sanitary city has been designed, and largely brought into being, and as the work of construction of the Canal proceeds towards completion, for there is still much work to be done, so everything connected with the Canal will be concentrated there. To this new town of Balboa adjoins the old city of Panama, the capital of the Republic of Panama, but now isolated from the rest of the republic, being entirely surrounded by U.S.A. territory.
Before we go through the Canal, it will be well to have a general idea of its character. Let us first consider that of the Suez. The Isthmus of Suez is a level neck of sand, only slightly raised above sea level. Across it a gutter has been dug: the Mediterranean Sea, unobstructed, flows along that gutter, until it blends its waters with those of the Red Sea.
The Panama is an entirely different proposition. The Isthmus of Panama is a neck of land formed of volcanic debris and rock. It is only partially level; it is humped in the middle, but that hump is hollowed like a saucer. So we have this sequence:—A level. A hump. A level.
The Canal therefore is made in this way. Firstly the middle, or humped part, is changed, by means of embankments, from a semi-dry saucer into a deep high-level pond, i.e. into a pond whose surface is 85 feet above the level of the sea. That pond is filled, and kept filled, with sweet water by the rainfall on high country around it—the inner slope of the edge of the saucer. As we are only concerned with two embankments which go to form the pond, we will refer to one as the Eastern and to the other as the Western.
Next, the Pacific Ocean is brought up a distance of about 4 miles, to the foot of the Western Embankment, by digging a simple gutter through level country, just as has been done in the case of Suez: similarly the Atlantic is brought a distance of about 5 miles to the foot of the Eastern Embankment.
Finally, each embankment is equipped with a series of water steps, or locks, whereby a vessel is lifted up from the ditch into the pond, or lowered from the pond into the ditch. Water of the pond, in measured doses of a lockful at a time, and on which dose float one or more ships, is first shut off from the pond, and is then permitted gently to escape into the Pacific Ocean ditch, or into the Atlantic Ocean ditch, as the case may be.
No drop of Atlantic sea water ever mingles with the sweet water of the Central Pond. No drop of Pacific sea water ever mingles with the sweet water of the Central Pond. The Atlantic with the Pacific do not commingle directly or indirectly.
Punctually at 7 a.m. the Canal pilot boarded us, and we left Balboa 7.35 a.m. under our own power, and proceeded up the Canal. It was a real pleasure trip. Engines running to perfection. Pilot most complimentary to them. No navigating to be done. The men highly content at the information that, once through the lock gates, the ship would be in fresh water, and they could wash clothes all day long. Largesse of soap distributed. We reached the Miraflores Locks at 8.15 a.m. Distance from Balboa about 2 miles. The shores of the Canal between Balboa and Miraflores present little of interest—the Canal is here simply a ditch cut through a swamp. We enter the lower lock: the water of the pond above our heads is let in, and we rise about 54 feet. The doors in front of us open, and we pass out into a pool. From this pool we enter a second lock: we again rise about 31 feet: the gates in front of us open, and we are floating in an arm of the artificially formed Gatun Lake.
This lake or pond or saucer is of considerable extent: about ⅓ the size of the Isle of Wight. Here it is deep: there it is shallow. What were marshes, when it was still unflooded, have now become its deeps: what were hillock or hill-tops now appear as isolated islands. It is between such islands that the ship channel threads.
A remarkable feature is that the islands, each of which was lately a hill-top, have as yet no horizontally cut shore or strand: the slope of the hillside is the same below the surface of the water as above it: the waves have not yet cut a shore bench or shelf. The trees therefore stand immersed in varying degree, some with the foot of the trunk only just awash: others with their topmost boughs only just showing. Where the bottom of the pond is level, large areas of now dead, but still standing, forest trees, partially submerged to an even depth, present a remarkable, because a transient, feature. Presently these will decay and disappear, then the water surface of the pond will appear to be greater than it does to-day.
At 10.10 a.m. we passed out of the Western (Miraflores and Miguel) locks, and proceeded across the pond, and reached the other side—the entrance to the Eastern Locks (the Gatun Locks)—at 4.51 p.m. Here we moored ship, as the Canal people would not drop us from the pond into the Atlantic ditch that night. We observed that the U.S.A. were not taking any risks that they could avoid of German agents causing trouble: sentries were posted everywhere, and no one from the ship was allowed to wander about ashore. So Mana’s crowd sat in a row on the edge of the lock, like migrating martins on a telegraph wire, and swung their legs, in high good humour. Saturday, March the 18th, at 8.7 a.m. we entered the Gatun Locks; at 8.53 p.m. passed out; and at 10 a.m. came to anchor in Colon Harbour.
That afternoon we moored alongside a pier, and took aboard coal, petroleum, and lubricating oil. The British Consul, Mr. Murray, was most kind and hospitable, and though the flat mud island on which Cristobal stands, and of which it occupies the greater part, is unusually uninteresting, as is also the town, yet, owing to Mr. Murray, we quite enjoyed a week’s detention there that Fate had in store for us.
As a vessel steams down the gutter (Gatun Approach) that runs in a straight line from the Eastern Embankment (Gatun Dam) into the Atlantic (Caribbean Sea), she has on her starboard hand, as she approaches the termination of the gutter, a small flat island of alluvium. The Canal water front of that island is occupied now by wharves and jetties, behind which runs a good road bordered with fairly respectable shops, and stores, and drinking-dens. At one end is a large and good hotel; at the other the stores, workshops, and residences of the Canal Officials. To all this is given the name of CristObal—long O. Immediately against Cristobal, and forming part of it, abuts the town of COlon—another long O—a town that practically sprang into being at the first making of the Canal: a twin sister to the town of Suez of the olden days for vice and villainy. If Colon be what it is now, with the U.S.A. in control, what must it have been of yore? We believe that the Canal Administration allows the citizens of the Republic of Panama some sort of self government as regards their town of Colon, hence its character. The redeeming point about it is that it is so frequently and largely burnt to the ground that it will eventually become quite reasonably sanitary.
At present, Cristobal is the executive centre on the Canal. Here are all the workshops. Balboa, at the other end, is to-day the administrative centre only, but gradually all interests connected with the Canal will there be concentrated. To Cristobal is brought, and from Cristobal is drawn, all labour and supplies. All food consumed throughout the Canal zone—meat, fresh fish, vegetables, fruit, is sent frozen from the U.S.A. and there kept in cold storage—no supplies practically are derived from the surrounding country. It is only by the courtesy of the Canal Administration, that anyone, not in its employ, is allowed to purchase food at its depots. Any foreigner therefore, whose work requires him to live in the Canal zone, finds housekeeping a very difficult matter. In our case, however, by the Regulations, we were entitled to purchase what we wanted, but the same Regulations specially state that any yacht, U.S.A. or foreign, shall be charged 20 per cent. more than any other vessel for any food supplied, or services rendered to her, and we were charged accordingly. And this though the Administration had only allowed us to pass through on the ground that we were not a yacht. In no sense were we one. To an Englishman it seems strange to find that another people considers it to the interest of the State to differentiate against yachts: we know, in our case, what our nation has gained by the widespread and intelligent interest in maritime affairs, that is the outcome of the British sport of yachting.
Having got all our essential stores aboard on the day of our arrival (Saturday), we hoped to be able to get fresh provisions, pay dues, and clear on the Monday. But now our troubles began. There were at this time certain repairs that it was desirable should be done to portions of our machinery. They were not essential, as we had substituted new spares for each defective part, but we thought it wise, as we were now at the only port where we could get the work done, to get the damaged parts renovated, so as to become spares in their turn. The original idea was to send down the parts by boat, but eventually the machine shop desired the vessel to be laid alongside its wharf. No vessel by the Regulations is allowed to be moved without a Canal Pilot aboard her. He takes absolute command and control. A pilot accordingly took her alongside all right. Then arose delays—but everybody was most obliging, and the work was well done, though of course prices were very high.
Meantime our kindly Consul was doing all he could to arrange for us to have a day’s tarpon fishing from the Gatun Weir—from hearsay it is most thrilling work: you stand on the great weir with the water boiling in foam 85 feet beneath you and play a real fighting fish of 100 to 200 lbs. weight. The gentleman who was to have run us up to Gatun in his launch, and to have helped us to get a fish, was, however, unavoidably detained.
Day followed day with the vessel alongside the wharf and the repair work in the workshops.
At this time we were much amused by an old Jamaican coloured man, who spent most of the day sitting on the quay beside the vessel close to her stern, where of course the ensign was flying on the flagstaff. He, like all the British West Indian coloured people, of whom there is a very large number at Cristobal-Colon, was enthusiastically loyal, and told us, “I love to sit under de ole flag: while you here, I do no more work—all de day I sit under de ole flag.” The men took a fancy to him, and “de ole flag” found something to spare for him at every meal, and a pipe of baccy afterwards.
At last the repairs were completed—shore accounts all settled up and the Canal Pilot took charge to take us out. We had to go out of the pool stern foremost. It turned out subsequently that the Gatun Locks were at this time passing a vessel through. This caused a current to flow past the pier head of the dock. The pilot did not know of it, with the result that Mana’s stern crashed into the pier head. Luckily the piling was very old and rotten, and Mana extraordinarily strong, so that, though the pier head structure was pretty considerably smashed, our own damage was confined to broken taffrail stanchions and the ironwork of the main gallows. We had therefore to return to our berth and have this new lot of damage made good. The Pilot, a Greek, of course tried to make out that the reversing gear had refused duty when he wanted to handle her, but, before we could find the Captain of the Port, that official had already been aboard and tried the engine, and told us that he found it worked to perfection, and gave us the true cause of the accident. We then asked him to give orders that our damage should be made good by the Canal Administration free of charge, but this he assured us was impossible under the Regulations—we must pay, but the job should be expedited. He also, out of sympathy with our misfortunes, gave us permission, when our job was done, this time to take our ship out ourselves without having another Canal pilot aboard, lest something worse should happen. And this we eventually did, to our own great satisfaction. Before however we could get our clearance, we had to deposit a sum equal to double the estimated cost of our repairs.
The Canal Administration, like the British Post Office, always plays pitch and toss on the terms of “heads I win, tails you lose.” It, very properly, compels you to take a pilot. It gives him absolute power, and requires that he himself shall take command and handle the vessel. But such a man’s experience is confined to big steamers: with them he is probably quite skilful, but give him a small craft or a yacht, and he knows as much about handling her as he does of piloting an aeroplane. Hence those tears.
The foregoing is equally true of the Suez Canal pilots. The risks to a small craft in the passage of the ship canals are great, and are solely due to the pilots being permitted to attempt to handle them.
As the Regulations of the Panama Canal stand, the Pilot may be mad, or drunk, or incompetent, and elect to ram another vessel, or to butt at a lock gate, nevertheless all damage done to the ship, or by the ship, must be paid by the Owners of the ship, before she is allowed to leave the Canal. Under no circumstances will the Administration accept responsibility for the conduct of their pilots. And there you have it.
At 9.15 a.m. Sunday, March the 26th, 1916, we passed through the breakwater into the Caribbean Sea. We had cleared from Cristobal-Colon for Trinidad, one of our West Indian Islands, but when doing so we never had any intention of going there. We informed the British Consul of our reasons and had his sanction. German sympathisers seemed to take a most kindly interest in us. We were really bound for Bermuda, via the Windward Passage, which is the pass between the two great islands of Cuba and St. Domingo. A strong wind and current sweep at this time of year from East to West the length of the Caribbean Sea, consequently we had to get well to the east’ard so as to make sure of carrying a fair wind and current for rounding Cape Tiburon, the western extremity of the Island of St. Domingo. We therefore at once set to work to beat steadily to wind’ard along the Venezuelan coast, keeping close in with the land, in order to cheat the current and to have as little sea as possible. As this coast is only roughly surveyed, and the lighting cannot be depended on, we exercised special care when standing-in to the land. We saw no craft along this coast except that, one night, what looked like a small tramp steamer of about 800 tons entirely changed her course, and bore down on us until she was close alongside. She did not attempt to communicate. We kept our course and took no notice of her. After a good look at us she took herself off.
We had unfortunately lost, at Cristobal, our excellent and popular Japanese cook, and the coloured Panama man who replaced him proved, after being given some days of grace, such a miserable impostor that even the strenuous and varied educational efforts of the fo’c’s’le failed to bring about his regeneration. We heard, indirectly, that the Russian Finn decided that it was a case of demoniacal possession and had attempted to cure it by means of a course of massage of the windpipe. Others of the crew suddenly became afflicted with a variety of complaints for which they drew various drastic drugs from the ship’s medicine chest and then, with great self-sacrifice, refraining from taking these themselves, administered them instead to the chef. We aft got along quite comfortably, as the cabin steward, Edwin Young, belonging to Pitcairn Island, had become, since joining, quite a good cook, and was most willing and hard working. But the fo’c’s’le very naturally complained, so, in its interest, we decided to alter our course and make for Port Royal, Jamaica, to seek that pearl of price—a good sea cook.
Nothing calling for remark occurred on this run until the 6th of April. At 6.15 a.m. on that day Mr. Gillam, whose watch it was, came below and said, “I wish you would come on deck, Sir; there’s a water-spout bearing down on us.” In half a shake of a lamb’s tail we were on deck, and a truly wonderful and impressive sight presented itself. Away on our starboard bow was a vast, dark purple cloud mass shaped like an open umbrella, or rather like a vaulted roof with central pendant. The upper surface of the dome blended with the normal clouds. The edge of the dome was sharply defined, and from it small fragments of cloud, all ragged, and looking like pearl-grey silk muslin torn off and crumpled, kept breaking away to be left behind. The dome-shaped mass, on its lower aspect, gradually became columnar, the column extended downward until it almost, but not quite, reached the sea. The lower part of its length was much attenuated, and convoluted, and terminated in ragged mist, and could be seen to be rotating rapidly.
The surface of the sea beneath it, over an area of perhaps a mile in diameter, presented the appearance of a fiercely boiling cauldron. The water rose up as waves of pyramidal form, from which the wind tore off the apices, and whipped the same into spume. The waves had no fixed direction: they simply dashed into one another. Immediately beneath the ragged termination of the central column the surface of the sea seemed to be bodily lifted up, amidst a welter of mist, and froth, and spray, into a cone-shaped form, but, between the apex of this cone, and the rapidly rotating extremity of the column of cloud above it, there always remained a distinct interval of considerable extent, that had the appearance of dense mist: the appearance of a hard rain-squall, seen from afar, as it sweeps over the sea. The cloud came down towards the sea, and the sea rose up towards the cloud, and there was an interval betwixt the two. The column was not quite vertical: though it maintained perfect continuity with the cloud mass above, of which it formed a part, nevertheless its lower extremity tended somewhat to trail or lag behind. It moved along its path towards us, quite slowly and steadily, cutting our wake, at an acute angle, some miles astern. It is difficult to conjecture what would happen to a small craft, or to any craft, that found itself well within the area of disturbance. Apart from anything else, the seas, tumbling down on to the top of her from all quarters, even if they did not break in her decks, could hardly fail to strip her hatch openings. As we watched, we agreed that even Mana could scarcely be expected to live amidst such seas, and therefore, obviously, nothing could. As it was, the surface of the sea, where we were, was little affected, nor was there any weight in the shifts of wind as they occurred.
We then had breakfast and a pipe and settled down to routine work when, at 10 a.m., a small cloud on the horizon, on our lee bow, was observed to be behaving in a way opposed to the ordinary laws of nature. Though a nice steady breeze was blowing and no other clouds were to be seen anywhere else in this direction on the horizon, yet this one particular patch, like a large sail, remained constant in form and in the same position. As we drew nearer, it was observed to increase and diminish in volume from time to time. The only explanation we could think of was that we had fallen in with a ship on fire, so we bore away towards it. As we reduced the distance betwixt us and it, we gradually made out that it was not one cloud of white smoke, but two separate clouds, that arose, more or less alternately, at two spots situated some two miles or so apart. Another point too gradually developed. Each patch of cloud or smoke suddenly burst forth to its maximum size and then gradually blew to leeward, and dissipated. This led us to think that it must be either gun practice or a naval action. The wind had now fallen light, so we started our engines, and made up our canvas, and, like rats, headed for the scrimmage. It was suggested that, following the classical example of Mr. Midshipman Easy a ladies’ wardrobe aboard should be overhauled to find if possible a green silk petticoat under which we might go into action. As in Easy’s case, being unarmed, our approach was likely to be of greater effect than our presence; but still we all decided to make a claim for prize money. As we cut down the distance it became evident that it could only be a matter of small craft, for no hull could be made out. The fighting was taking place on the northern side of Morant’s Cays, a group of low-lying coral islets that lay between us and the combatants.
The situation gradually developed. Morant’s Cays are coral islets perched on the top of a volcanic area: there had been a seismic disturbance of considerable extent: we had the large-scale Admiralty plan of them. Great changes had taken place: the sea was now breaking in various directions where deep water was shown on the chart. At two points, from vents in the sea bottom, steam was being ejected into the air in puffs, each puff forming a dense white cloud perhaps 200 or more feet high. These puffs occurred some 1½ miles apart and one was much larger than the other. The steam was ejected from each vent alternately. We came in pretty close, but breaking water in various directions warned us that we were looking for trouble, so we headed away for Port Royal, Jamaica.
Jamaica was discovered by Columbus, and belonged to Spain till 1655, when it was captured by an expedition sent out by Oliver Cromwell.
The Island, from its proximity to the Spanish Possessions, was a godsend to the Buccaneers. Port Royal, which, as its name shows, was founded after the Restoration, was full of riches, often ill-gotten: “always like a Continental mart or fair.” In 1692 it was overwhelmed by an earthquake, and again laid low by fire in 1703.
Kingston, originally begun as a settlement of refugees from Port Royal after the earthquake, gradually grew in importance, and finally became the capital of the island.
During the wars which followed the French Revolution, Jamaica was of importance as the great centre of British interests in the Western Caribbean.
We now headed for Jamaica; Kingston, its capital, lies towards the eastern extremity of its southern coast. The town is placed on flat land which gradually rises into dwarf hills. It is built parallel to, and abutting on to its water-front. Right and left of the city, when viewed from the sea, extends low country, whilst behind it, and to the east, rises in the distance a lofty range of mountains. From the open sea, the town and flat country is divided by a natural breakwater that maintains the general trend of the coast. By this breakwater is formed a lagoon that runs East and West, parallel to the coast, for a distance of some six miles, with an average breadth of about one mile, and has practically no arms or branches. This lagoon is the harbour of Kingston and a fine one, but it lacks the element of picturesqueness, nor is it a comfortable one for small craft. The strong easterly wind, known as “The Undertaker,” that daily arises and increases in strength with the sun, sweeps down its length and knocks up a nasty sea. It is difficult to obtain shelter, even for a dinghy, when landing at Kingston.
But we are anticipating. We ran down the coast, close in, and at 9.30 a.m., Friday, April the 7th, 1916, we reached the western end of the natural breakwater between which and the mainland is the passage into the lagoon. Here the Port Doctor came on board, and as he went through our bills of health we mutually discovered that we were old hospital friends, though we had never heard of each other for twenty years.
We entered the harbour, and brought up in 15 fms., abreast of the wharf of the old naval dockyard of Port Royal, and distant from it about a cable’s length. Port Royal is situated on the inner aspect of the bulbous-headed western extremity of the natural breakwater. The land surface is very limited in extent and is entirely taken up with the old fort, the old dockyard, and old naval and military quarters. All but a few poor closely packed houses is in the occupation of Government. The width of the breakwater to the eastward soon becomes small; open beach on seaward side, mangroves extending into the lagoon on the other; and between the two sand and scrub. This part is the well-known Palisadoes, the home of land-crabs and dead men, and the scene of many a duel. Port Royal is now deserted; no shipping or living workshops; everything is hushed, but the place is not neglected. Nelson might have left it but yesterday; the dockyard, with its fittings, stores, and quays, reminded one of that other quaint little marine gem, the old naval dockyard of English Harbour in the island of Antigua. When the place hummed with life, The Young Sea Officer’s Sheet Anchor, by Falconer, was the text book to work by, and its social life is vividly and accurately given us by Marryat in one of his novels.
As in the dusk, all alone, we passed down the silent corridors, and approached the old mess-room, we somehow listened for, and expected at any moment to hear, through some opening door, the reckless toast of “A bloody war, and a sickly season,” the chink of glasses, and the crash of the chorus “Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack!” And Jack, thus bidden, used to come, and link his arm in that of some fine young fellow, and together the two would saunter away “to the home of a friend of his in the Palisadoes.” Little time for packing up allowed! Many and many a man, in the prime of life and feeling quite well, has dined at mess one night in snowy uniform: the next night in a white uniform of a different cut as the guest of Jack and Death. These two kept open house in those days.
The R.E. Officer in charge was most kind and hospitable; he took us over the old fort, pointing out, amongst much else, Nelson’s former quarters and the adjoining length of parapet overlooking the harbour entrance, now known as Nelson’s Walk. Our host informed us that, fishing from the wharves, he got splendid sport.
From Port Royal to Kingston is about four miles by the boat channel. Passes through the coral banks have been blasted where requisite and the channel beaconed. A least depth of 4½ ft. is thus obtained, and a direct course. Our little motor lifeboat carried us backwards and forwards most excellently on various voyages made to attend to our business at Kingston. The way in which she bucked at speed over the short steep seas reminded one of larking over hurdles on a pony.
The work in hand was to get our clearance inwards, to get rid of our food-destroyer from Panama, and to find in his place a live ship’s cook, to report particulars of the Morant’s Cays upheaval, and finally the usual catering, and bill of health, and clearance outwards. The Chief of the Customs was good enough to interest himself in Mana’s welfare, so that all these matters were dealt with in due sequence, and with the least possible trouble to us. A coloured cook was procured from an hotel at £16 a month, with, as it proved, but little justification on the ground of ability for drawing such a rate of pay; still, his professional enormities were associated with so many humorous incidents, and as he appeared at least to mean well, we resigned ourselves to the inevitable, and prayed that we might survive his ministrations.
About noon on Sunday, April 9, 1916, we weighed and motored out from Port Royal, unplagued by pilots, and dipping our ensign to the Port Doctor and his wife, in acknowledgment of adieux waved from their garden. Clear of everything, the engines were stopped and Mana, bound to “the stormy Bermuthies,” proceeded to argue the point with a head wind as to whether she should, or should not, go to windward. By steady hammering she gradually got under the western end of the Island of San Domingo, and then through the celebrated Windward Passage. We had now to threadle our way betwixt the numerous islets that constitute the Bahama group, and it was quite delightful and interesting; brilliant sunshine, cool moderate breezes, land every few hours, but reliable charts. This was yachting; we had met a good deal of what bore little semblance to it, so we appreciated our present luck all the more.
The morning of the 19th of April 1916 saw us beating up under the lee of Acklin Island and of Crooked Island; a fresh N.E. breeze swept in puffs across the long, narrow, flat land. An open native boat, with jib-headed mainsail as usual, was seen heading across our course when we were close in, so we gave her a wave, and, as we came into the wind, she rounded-to under our stern, dousing her sail, unshipping her mast and shooting up alongside our quarter. We dropped into her; a couple of empty sacks were pitched in, and she was clear of the ship before she had lost her way. The mast is stepped, the sail hoisted, and she is off again with her gunnel steadily kept awash. We now for the first time spoke. The two coloured men, her crew, were most obliging; they would make for the most convenient landing and then they would accompany us catering.
Everything went off excellently; we made a tour to different cottages and gardens, collecting whatever was available, particularly grape-fruit, oranges, and tamarinds. We also got exceptionally fine specimens of the shell of the King conch and of the Queen conch. Hundreds of the King conch were piled up at one spot on the shore ready to be burnt into lime.
The natives appeared to be pure-blooded negroes of west-coast type, and in some respects their culture remains unchanged. For instance, the pestle and mortar and winnowing tray for treating maize were exactly similar in pattern to those we had seen used by the Akikuyu of Eastern Central Africa.
When catering, the price of each article is settled by negotiation, and it is definitely bought, as it is met with from time to time in our perambulation, on condition that it shall be paid for as it is passed into the boat on departure—cash on delivery. Much other stuff, though unbought, is also brought down to the boat in the hope of sale at the last moment. This too is generally taken as well, because going cheaply, and also to avoid causing disappointment.
Everybody having been paid, and the already laden boat now pretty well cluttered-up with an unexpected additional cargo of chickens, eggs, fruit, shells, and sundry ethnological acquisitions, up goes the shoulder-of-mutton, the helmsman ships his twiddling-stick, and, in a few moments, the water is purring beneath our lee gunnel as the little craft slithers through the closely set wavelets of land-sheltered water. Long, narrow, and ballasted, these boats are very fast and are given the last ounce of wind pressure they can stand up to. It seemed to us, however, that her crew wished to show what they could do with her as, halliard and sheet in hand, they lifted the lee gunnel from moment to moment, just sufficiently to prevent her filling, but they did so with an easy nonchalance that told that they were finished boat sailors.
A very few minutes saw us “once more aboard the lugger.” We had left Mana at noon, and eight bells were striking as the staysail-sheet-tackle scraped to leu’ard along the hairless belly of its horse; we had explored an island, seen a good deal of its people and their culture, and had revictualled ship, all within four hours, yet without hurry!
Towards sundown we passed out into the Atlantic, through the Crooked Island Passage; at 8.45 p.m. the Light that marks the Passage dipped over our taffrail, and we turned in with that peace of mind which is the portion of those whose ship is clear of all land.
This day, April the 19th, Gibb’s Hill Lighthouse, Bermuda, bore N. 42° E., distant 767 miles; it took us eleven days to do it.
April the 20th.—The sargasso weed formed floating islands sometimes many acres in extent; when one considers the marine fauna that centres round a piece of floating wreckage in tropical seas, some idea can be formed of the wealth of life associated with this vast sudd. Our patent log could no longer be towed.
The Bermudas are a group of a hundred islands, most of which are, however, bare rocks. They were discovered in the beginning of the 16th century by Juan Bermudez, a Spaniard.
In 1609 attention was drawn to them by Sir George Somers, who was shipwrecked there on his way to Virginia, and found them “the most plentiful place that ever I came to for fish, hogs and fowl.” Fifty emigrants were sent out in 1612. Moore, a ship’s carpenter, was the first governor. He established his headquarters at St. George’s. Later a more central position was needed, and the town of Hamilton was laid out, and became the capital in 1815. The American War brought the islands into notice from a naval point of view, and in 1810 a dockyard was begun on Ireland Island, thousands of convicts being sent out from England for its construction.
The Colony possesses representative institutions, but not responsible government.
We made Bermuda for the sake of gaining our northing. We had new canvas awaiting us there, that we ought to have received at Tahiti, and we had to decide, on cable advices, whether we would lay up Mana here in Bermuda, in the United States of North America, or bring her back to England.
The Sailing Directions offered us two harbours, St. George’s and Hamilton. They do not point out that all shipping business, practically all business, is done at Hamilton. We selected St. George’s. The harbour master came aboard with the pilot, and proved an interesting man, kindly and obliging—an old soldier, a keen conchologist, and a bit of a geologist. The harbour itself is excellent and charming; it extends away ad infinitum amongst the islets and coral patches, but there is little indication of its being made much use of by mercantile shipping.
St. George’s Island is linked to its big neighbour by causeways and bridges, which are carried across the shallow coral sea. Its quaint, clean, sleepy little townlet, or village, exists by letting lodgings to American visitors, and growing early vegetables for exportation to the States.
The American Tourist is the winter migrant whose nature and idiosyncrasies are by the islanders most deeply studied. He, to the Bermudian, is Heaven’s choicest gift—his coconut—the all-sufficing. Nine-tenths of the brain power of the islanders is devoted to inducing the creature to visit the islands and to keeping it contented whilst it is there, the other tenth to supplying it with early vegetables in its continental habitat. Of course Bermuda is an important naval station, and a certain amount of business is done in purveying to the naval and military establishments, but that is a thing apart. The Dockyard is situated on islands well removed from both St. George’s and Hamilton. In this we may see the finger of Providence; placed elsewhere it would have incommoded the American Tourist.
This cult of the foreigner is the explanation of many things which at first sight appear strange in Bermuda. It is about eleven miles by road from St. George’s to Hamilton, and there is no means of public conveyance beyond a covered pair-horse wagonette, that acts as a carrier’s cart for goods and passengers. We marvelled exceedingly why this should be, whereupon it was thus explained to us by our butcher, who was also the proprietor of the shandy-ran express aforesaid, and of a hired-carriage business, and by his son and partner, the M.P. for the St. George’s Harbour Division. The Americans find the climate of Bermuda delightful as a winter resort. At Hamilton monster hotels are built for them, but there is nothing whatever for them to do. The islands do not possess any features of natural or historical interest that appeal to tourists. Now the islanders had observed that the dominant note in the American character was its restlessness; unless an American could violently rush around and spend money he was wretched and pined. But the island had excellent roads and lovely views, so they provided carriages, and objectives to drive to associated with romance and story, the evolution of which, from a basis of nothing, is a standing testimony to their intellectual creative powers, and of the truth of the axiom that a demand creates a supply.
But the island, for we may ignore the numerous islets, is very small. With care and good management, and by severely rationing him in the extent of his daily shay excursions, it was found that the American could be kept alive, and healthy, and cheerful for 14 days: from one steamer to the next: all this time he exuded dollars. “All is well,” as the ant said to the aphis. Then suddenly the heavens fell. A lewd spirit had prompted our friend the butcher of St. George’s to import two motor-buses and with them run an hourly service between Port St. George and Hamilton, to the great convenience of the public, and to his own exceeding profit. As if this were not enough, he and others were known to have even placed orders in the States for motor-cars! Bitter was the cry of the carriage purveyors of Hamilton, of the hotels, of the furnished apartments. The American visitor would “do the darned island,” every inch of its roads, twice over, in a single day, and get away by the same boat he had arrived by—(the boats stay two days loading vegetables).
But where shall salvation be found if not in “government of the people, by the people, for the people”? Many members of both Houses indirectly, and in some cases directly, were interested in the hired carriage, or apartment, or hotel lines. Trained in such schools for statesmen, the Legislature was able to visualise the national danger, and deal with it broadly, regardless of the vested interests of the day. Without delay both Houses met, an Act was passed, and the Royal Assent given through the Governor, whereby the butcher was given the cost price of his two buses, and a solatium; the buses were immediately to be sent back to the States, and, for the future, no form of automobile was to be landed, owned, or used on the island. Heavy penalties for infraction. So there is still one spot on earth, anyhow, where one can escape the scourge of the motor-horn.
For a few days we stayed at St. George’s, getting a little smith’s work done and watering ship. There is no surface water on the island; the rain water is collected and stored in great underground cisterns hewn in the solid coral rock of which the island is formed. The water-supply thus conserved has never been known to fail. In Mana’s case the Military Authorities kindly sent their large tank-boat alongside. At odd times we explored in the launch some of the labyrinth of waterways and islets forming part of St. George’s Harbour, or connected with it. When doing so one afternoon, we made the acquaintance, at nightfall, of a coloured fisherman, by offering him the courtesy of a pluck home. This man (Bartram of St. George’s) proved an extraordinarily good fellow. He said he never worked on Sundays, therefore he was free to offer to take us on that day, as his guest, to try for monsters in a certain wonderful hole, far out on the edge of the reef, a spot we could reach with the aid of our launch. He was most keen about it, so we accepted. The monster-capturing was a failure, but he and his two sons worked hard all day, and seemed much concerned that they had failed to show sport, nor would they consider any suggestion of payment for their long day’s work, on our return to the ship. They accepted, however, a clasp-knife each, as a souvenir of our excursion.
Bartram had told us that he had at home a wonderfully fine and rare “marine specimen.” (The collection of “marine specimens” is one of the refuges of despair of the American Tourist, and their supply has gradually become a minor industry of Bermuda.) He had found it some years ago. Many millionaires from the hotels or on yachts had offered him big prices for it, but the very fact that they were so keen to get it had made him all the more determined to keep it. Some day he had intended to sell it. Now would we accept it as a gift? On inspection it proved to be no coral, but a very fine example of a colony of sociable sea snails (Vermetus). We therefore suggested to Bartram that we should take it to England on Mana and offer it in his name as a gift to the British Museum (Natural History). This we did, and Dr. Harmer, the Keeper of the Zoological Department, was much pleased with it, and wrote to Bartram accordingly.
The interest of this little story lies in the fact of its being a typical example of the way in which one often finds, in our remote dependencies, the people exhibiting unexpected keenness and pride in associating themselves with England, and her interests, on an opportunity of doing so being pointed out to them. We had found it so at Pitcairn Island.
A more delightful place than Bermuda at which to spend a winter would be hard to find by those who care for pleasure sailing in smooth waters, fishing, sunshine, and the customary amenities of civilised life. Unhappily we could not spare the time to avail ourselves of the possibilities of St. George’s. We had constantly to be at Hamilton on ship’s business, so after several journeys to and fro in the dreadful covered wagonette, wherein physical discomfort almost rendered us indifferent to a kaleidoscopic succession of humorous persons, situations, and incidents, we got a pilot and went round under power into Hamilton Harbour. Pilotage is compulsory, but free. Once at Hamilton things went much more easily. The Colonial Authorities and the Admiral in Command and his Staff were most kind and hospitable. Admiralty House is a charming eighteenth-century English country residence, of moderate size, and romantically situated. In its garden, peeps of the sea are seen, through graceful subtropical foliage, at every turn, and miniature land-locked coves, reached from above by winding steps down the face of the falaise, afford the most perfect of boat harbours and bathing-pools.
Another delightful official residence is allotted to the officer in command of the Dockyard. In his case he is given a miniature archipelago. His tiny islands rise from 20 to 100 feet above the water. On one is his house; another is his garden; chickens and pigs occupy a third, whilst his milch goats live on various small skerries. As the extent of water between the different islets is proportional to their size, and is deep, the whole makes a very charming and compact picture. Yet he is only ten minutes by bicycle from his office in the Dockyard, although, from his little kingdom, no sign of the Dockyard is to be seen, it being shut off by a wooded promontory.
The Admiral was good enough to offer us every facility for laying up Mana in the Dockyard, but on various grounds we eventually decided to take war-time risks and bring her back to England, so receiving from him a signal-rocket outfit, and some kindly advice on the unwisdom of trying to run-down periscopes that showed no wake behind them, the vessel being now refreshed, at 0.55 p.m. on Friday, May the 12th, 1916, we weighed, and proceeded under power from Hamilton to the Examination Anchorage, with pilot aboard. Arriving there at 4.15 p.m. the Examining Officer came alongside and handed us the now usual special Admiralty clearance card, together with a courteous radiogram wishing us luck, from the Officer in Command of the Dockyard. The new trysail was hoisted, the engines stopped, and we commenced our voyage to Ponta Delgada in the Island of St. Miguel, one of the Azores, distant miles 1,869.
This run was of “yachting” character. Gentle breezes, smooth seas, an occasional sail on the horizon. On the eighth day out, at the beginning of the first watch, the lights of St. Elmo were seen burning on both fore and main trucks. It is rather remarkable that this was the first, and only occasion, on which this phenomenon occurred throughout the entire voyage. Occasionally we got a turtle. Ten o’clock in the morning of the 30th of May showed us the Peak of Pico Island, 65 miles away, and at 10 p.m. next day, Thurs., May the 31st, we hove to off Ponta Delgada in the island of St. Miguel to await daylight. The 1,869 miles had taken us 18 days.
Having been the victims of the organised dishonesty of the pilots of San Francisco in California, we had long before decided to run no risks of having the vessel again detained for ransom by foreign officials. Mana therefore next day, June the 1st, simply stood in and dropped a boat outside the breakwater, and again stood off, whilst we pulled in. Being Good Friday, it was, of course, a fiesta, all shops shut, and everybody away in the country. Our consul, too, was away for the day, but his wife kindly gave us our letters. We had been instructed to obtain from him the necessary information regarding war conditions, and the regulations governing shipping bound for British ports. At Bermuda nothing was known.
When pulling up the harbour, we had noticed one British vessel—an armed Government transport, evidently formerly a small German passenger-carrying tramp—so having bought some pineapples, vegetables and cigarettes, nothing else being procurable, we got into our boat and paid her a visit. Her commander was ashore for the day with the Consul fiestaing, but his Chief Officer was good enough to put us au courant with things, so we bade adieu to Ponta Delgada without any wish to see more of it, and pulled out to sea. The ship was far away to leeward, set down by wind and current. Not expecting us to get through our work so quickly, she had not troubled to keep her station, but went off to argufy by flag with a Lloyd’s Signal-Station which would not admit that she was in its book.
After she had picked us up one of the men left aboard asked whether any of the craft in the harbour were “a-hanging Judas.” Though there were several small square-rigged vessels alongside the Mole, none had, however, cock-billed their yards.[93] It was interesting thus to find that the memory and meaning of the old sea custom still survived. Old superstitions and fancies still exist: an ancient shellback who was with us down to the s’uth’ard reprobated the capture of an albatross—“They is the spurrits of drownded seamen.” Someone objected on doctrinal grounds, but was met with the crushing rejoinder: “I said spurrits: their souls ar’ in ’ell.”
And now we come to the last lap. On June the 1st, by 1 p.m. we were again aboard Mana, the boat hoisted in, and she bore away to round Ferraira Point which forms the extremity of St. Michael’s Island. From Ferraira’s Point to the haven where we would be was 1101.5 miles, and the direction N.49¼° E. true, or, shall we say, North East.
After making the customary routine entries in the Log Book associated with taking departure—the latitude, the longitude, the reading of the patent log, the canvas set, etc.—our Sailing-master makes the following entry, “And now we are fairly on our way to Dear Old Britain. All the talk now is of the submarine risks. I put our chances of getting through unmolested at 85 per cent. But is the Mana doomed? Time will tell, but I don’t think.”
Nevertheless every preparation was now made, in case we had to leave the ship in a hurry, at the orders of some German submarine. The engine was taken out of the lifeboat to save weight. Every detail both for her and the cutter was suitably packed or made up, and placed in the deck-house, ready to be passed into her at the last moment before she was lowered. We could only afford room for the photographic negatives and papers of the Expedition. If the ship be sunk, the whole of the priceless, because irreplaceable, archæological and ethnological collections must go with her.
The men, however, proceeded to pack, in their great seamen’s bags, all the clutter and old rubbish they had accumulated during a voyage of over three years. Its bulk and weight would have rendered the boats unmanageable. Moreover, each man, when the time came, would be attending to shipping his property instead of giving all thought to getting his boat with her essential equipment safely away from the vessel. But we had taken them this long voyage without accident, and we were not going to let them make fools of themselves at the finish. Moreover, Mana carried a pretty mixed crowd: English, Spanish, Portuguese, and West Indian negroes, a Russian Finn, and descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty. At a pinch, amongst such a lot, long knives are apt to appear from nowhere, and self-control and discipline be at an end, with lamentable result. We therefore drew up a set of orders in triplicate; one copy for the fo’c’s’le, one for aft, and one for entry in the official log, in which was clearly set out a routine that was to be followed to the letter in the event of our having to take to the boats. The details need not here be given, suffice to say that they stated that explicit orders for the common good were now set out in writing, and that THESE ORDERS WOULD NOT, WHEN THE OCCASION AROSE, BE REPEATED VERBALLY; that there was ample boat accommodation for all, if the lifeboat were got away safely from the ship before the cutter, but not otherwise, because all hands were needed to swing out the larger boat. Therefore, when the ship’s bell rang, the Sailing-master would take up his position by the lifeboat in the waist, to superintend her launching and stowage, and to give orders, and eventually to take command of her, and the Master would pick up his loaded repeating rifle and spare cartridges in clips and go to the taffrail. (It was obvious from that position he could see and hear everything, and yet could not be approached or rushed by any, or many.)
Any man failing immediately to appear on deck when the bell rang would be shot dead without any warning when he did appear. Any man endeavouring to place his private gear in a boat would be shot dead in the act, without any warning. The like if he attempted to enter other than his own boat, or his own boat out of his turn. The like on a long knife, or other weapon, being seen in his hand or possession. The like on his failing to obey the verbal orders as issued.
By the routine laid down the lifeboat would get away safely with her crew and equipment. The cutter’s own crew were strong enough to load and lower their own boat, after having assisted the heavy lifeboat, provided they obeyed the orders of the Mate who had charge of her. He was a good seaman, but it was essential that he should have the moral support that comes from a loaded rifle. Once boats all clear and safe, the lifeboat would pull in to the ship, as close as she thought wise, whereupon the “Old Man,” in a nice cork jacket, would drop off his taffrail into the water, and she would pick him up.
These orders and the penalties, extreme as they were, met with general approval as far as we could gather indirectly. Two days after their being posted, when Thomas, the coloured cook, came for orders, we thought we would put him through his catechism. “Have you learnt up the orders in the fo’c’s’le that concern you, Thomas?” “Yes, sar!” “When the bell rings, what will you do?” “Jump deck quick, damn quick, sar!” “Good! And then?” “I go starn big boat.” “And when she is in the water you’ll jump into her?” “No, sar! You shoot Thomas. Cutter’s my boat.” Thomas had got up his orders thoroughly and intelligently, and departed quite pleased with his viva voce exam., and the bundle of cigarettes his reward.
Some of the men, finding that their kit-bags must be left behind, hit out the following ingenious plan for saving their clothes. They first put on their Sunday best suit, over that their weekday go-ashore rig, then their working clothes. To the foregoing must be added a knitted guernsey or two, and any superior underclothing. The result was most grotesque; they could hardly waddle, or get through the fo’c’s’le hatch. Had the fine weather continued, their sufferings would have been severe. A gale, however, in which no submarine could show her nose, came to their rescue.
At the time we are writing of—June 1916—the submarines were not operating far out into the Atlantic. Our idea was to keep Mana well away until we got on to about the same parallel of latitude as the Scilly Isles, and then wait thereabouts until it blew hard from the S.W. Blow it did, sure enough, with high confused seas: dangerous. Gradually they became bigger, but less wicked. We rode it out dry and comfortably as usual, with oil bags to wind’ard. Unhappily it was an Easterly gale, instead of the Westerly we had hoped for. It moderated. The wind drew to the Nor’ard. We let her go, and sped up the Channel at a great pace, and arrived in St. Helen’s Roads, Isle of Wight, at noon on June the 23rd. Twenty-two days from St. Miguel. We had entered and passed up the English Channel, unchallenged by friend or foe.
In St. Helen’s Roads we took aboard the now obligatory Government pilot, who brought us through the different defences to the Hamble Spit Buoy, from which we had started three years and four months earlier.
We had traversed, almost entirely under canvas, without accident of consequence to ship or man, a distance of over One Hundred Thousand miles.
Such is the mana of MANA.
[The Royal Cruising Club Challenge Cup, last held by Sunbeam (Lord Brassey), was, in 1917, awarded to Mana on her return, by special resolution of the Annual General Meeting of the Club, “for a remarkable cruise in the Pacific.”]