After losing the south-east trades we had light winds and fine weather with smooth calm sea until we sighted the Falkland Islands; standing like two silent sentinels of that stormy region of the South Atlantic Ocean, they have been the scene of many a shipwreck. A cold, bleak, inhospitable rock-bound coast, around which almost perpetual gales blow. There are two large islands and several smaller ones with an area of about thirteen thousand square miles, very mountainous, situated in latitude 51° 40′ south, longitude 59° 30′ west. They are right in the track of vessels going to and fro around Cape Horn.

We sighted the islands on Christmas Eve, my first Christmas at sea. It being summer time, we had twenty-two hours daylight, and very little darkness. The sun rose at 3 a.m., and set at 11 p.m. The mountains on the island were covered with pure white dazzling snow, while in the valleys you could see cattle grazing in beautiful green pastures, and the rocks by the water’s edge were literally covered with seals.

Christmas day broke fine and clear, with the most beautiful sunrise human eyes had ever gazed upon. I have been in many parts of the world since then, but never have I beheld a sky like that on Christmas morning off the Falkland Islands. No words could describe it, for it was indescribable. There was just a gentle breeze, the sea rising and falling in gentle undulations, with a soft murmuring sound, whitened by the ivory of crumbling foam, then shaken into sparkle as though a rain of splintered diamonds was falling, each breath bringing with it the smell of the kelp from the rock-bound coast. The sky to the westward was slightly overcast, thinning out towards the meridian—and towards the east small feathery patches of cloud floated about in a silver sea, while down near the horizon it was a clear soft grey. Then the wonderful sight burst upon us, heralding the rising of the sun the most magnificent coloured rays spread over the sky. It would need a painter’s brush, and a poet’s language to describe their beauty. The watch on deck actually called out to the watch below to come and see it, it seemed to me a fitting scene to celebrate the day on which the Saviour of the world was born. Many years have passed since I stood spellbound by that sight, and my Christmas days have been spent in many lands, but it is as fresh in my mind as though it were yesterday, and every Christmas day has brought back the memory of that glorious sunrise off the Falklands.

About eight a.m. the breeze freshened from the eastward, and the “Stormy Petrel” had every stitch of canvas set, and was making about ten knots per hour. A course was set for the Straits of Le Maire, which separate Staten Island from the southern extremity of the South American Continent. We washed the decks before breakfast, and from then the day was as a Sunday. The captain ordered the steward to give us soft tack for breakfast, a luxury you don’t often get at sea, and an eight bell dinner for all hands in honour of the day, with a bottle of rum to each watch.

We heard eight bells strike with more relish than usual, as the captain screwed the sun’s meridian altitude on his sextant, and the second mate glanced across and actually smiled from the weather side of the poop. Then forrard one of the men and I went to the galley for the kids, or food tins. Chaff and good humour were the order of the day at the galley door, and I rather think cook was not sorry when it was all over. Then followed the tramp tramp along the deck with the steaming kids, and at last we had the food all served up and sat down to eat it. There was real fresh pork, none ever tasted so sweet, rice soup and potatoes, followed by plum duff, real genuine plum pudding, with some left over for tea. This was a luxury, and we made the most of it and for once at sea we had a meal which made us satisfied with ourselves and things in general. We cleared away and put things tidy. The day passed away very quietly among the men, and after supper, the weather being fine, they all sat round the fore-hatch and spun yarns, real sailors’ yarns, not stories of goblins and ghosts, but real stern facts out of their own hard lives. Before they started they tossed up who should begin, and the lot fell to old George the Greek, and thus he began his story, which was the best of all.

George the Greek’s Story.

“When I was a boy I lived with my parents at Smyrna. My father was a fisherman, and I often used to go with him in his boat. I was passionately fond of the water and all things connected with it, fond of athletics, and could swim, run, jump or wrestle with any boy in Smyrna, and was utterly fearless. All the fishermen of the port knew me and were very good to me.

“My dear old father and mother were good, God-fearing people. Their dearest and most honoured friend was good Padre Nicola. The dear old Padre, how he loved me and watched over my young life. He taught me, with other lessons, to be a brave loving boy, and when I was old enough he taught me to sing in the little church that his loving flock had built for him, it was just outside Smyrna on the road to Ephesus. Often when he came to our house and sat in the little garden that was so full of flowers and sweet-scented herbs, he would pat me on the head and say he hoped and prayed that I would grow up a good man, and a comfort and help to my dear father and mother.

“Oh, Jesu Christi,” he groaned, and for a few minutes he could not speak, but after a while he controlled himself and proceeded:

“When I was fourteen years old, an old friend of my father’s, Captain Petri, came to Smyrna in his brig the ‘Alexanovitch.’ He was a dear old man, he and my father were boys together in Patras, and they had not met for years. He spent all his spare time at my little home and took a great fancy to me. He soon found out that I was fond of the sea, and asked my father to let me go with him, promising he would watch over me and treat me as his own son, and make a sailor of me too. My father and mother were very loth to part with me, but Captain Petri had no son or daughter of his own, and they knew he would do all he had promised for me.

“So they spoke to the Padre about it. The dear old man said how sorry he, too, would be to lose me from the choir of the little church, but it was a good chance for me. He would pray the good God to bless me, and keep me good and true, and so, to my delight, it was settled that I was to go with Captain Petri in the ‘Alexanovitch.’

“My poor mother was heartbroken to lose her boy, for deep down in her heart she had hoped to see me settle at home, and become the village schoolmaster, but it was not to be.

“The following week was both a busy and a happy one for me, the happiest week of my life. The choir of the church in which I had now sung for several years got up a grand supper and the dear old Padre took the chair. What good wishes were given to me, what earnest prayers for my future. They presented me with a beautiful Douay Bible and Missal with my name on the fly leaf, written by the dear Padre himself. Oh, it was a cursed day for me when I left the place and home I loved so well.

“The brig ‘Alexanovitch’ was 300 tons register and carried a crew of eight all told, the captain, mate, cook, four seamen and one boy.

“The following week saw me on board with my kit, I was to receive 20 drachmas per month. I was delighted, I seemed a rich man all at once, my word but I did.

“We sailed at last for Alexandria, and my poor old father accompanied me in his boat as far as Khios. Little he or I thought we should never meet again. We had a pleasant twenty days voyage to Egypt, the ‘Alexanovitch’ was anything but a fast sailor, in fact, the greatest speed we could get out of her was seven knots an hour.

“On our arrival we went direct to the wharf, and discharged the cargo with the crew. We were three weeks at Alexandria and every night Captain Petri would take me with him and show me all the wonderful places in that famous ancient city, that was built by Alexander the Great. We visited the palaces of the Pashas, the Mosques, Arsenal, etc., I could not now remember one half of the places we went to. It would take many months, and much money to explore and see all the sights of Alexandria. It is said that in the year 640 A.D., when the Saracenic General Amer conquered the city, in his report to his royal master, the Caliph, he said he had found four thousand palaces, four thousand baths, forty thousand Jews paying tribute, four hundred royal circuses, and twelve thousand gardeners who supplied the city with herbs and vegetables. To my young mind it was all so wonderful and never having been out of Smyrna, I was a little bewildered with all I saw.

“By this time our cargo was discharged, and we had loaded again for Constantinople, and on leaving Alexandria we had a succession of gales of wind, in which the old brig got terribly knocked about, and this was the beginning of our troubles. When we were off the Island of Rhodes, our boats were washed away by a heavy sea, and a considerable amount of damage was done about the deck. Then off the Island of Patmos, the mate was washed overboard and drowned, and every man on board was bruised and sore with the buffeting. To make matters still worse, when we were off Cape Sagri, poor old Captain Petri was knocked down by a heavy sea and injured, and all through the Dardanelles the bad weather continued.

“When we arrived at Constantinople our crew was completely worn out, Captain Petri was taken seriously ill, and had to leave the ship. I was very sorry to part from him, but was getting more confidence in myself, and so resolved to stop by the vessel.

“The agent appointed another captain. He was a Turk, a native of Havac on the Bosphorus. He was a tall strong looking young man, with a long pointed moustache, and a villainous look on his face, and as was afterwards proved, his face was a true index to his character.

“We lay four weeks at Constantinople. The men asked me to go on shore with them, and I was unable to refuse, as they said they would show me round, and they did, but may Heaven’s curse fall upon them. They took me into all the dens of infamy, among the lowest of the low in that terrible city of corruption and vice. They taught me to forget all the good my dear old mother had taught me at her knee, and made me laugh at words that the dear old Padre had spoken so reverently.”

Again the old man broke down with the agony of remembrance. “Oh, Jesu Christi,” he murmured, “why did I leave the dear home, and the mother who was so proud of me, and who loved me so. Never again have I looked on her sweet face, or heard her voice, never again have I sat in the little church and heard the dear Padre’s blessing. For forty long years have I roamed around the world, but never again have I looked on those dear faces that I loved so well. But God is good, and some say that I may see them in that land where all these things are forgotten and forgiven.”

For a few minutes he was silent, lost in memories of the past, then he continued:

“We finished loading at last, and then hauled out to the anchorage off Scutari, and that evening while at anchor, at about nine-thirty p.m., a small boat came off from the shore, containing an old Turkish gentleman and a boy. He climbed on board very smartly for his apparent age, and asked for the captain. I called the captain, who at once came, and after a few remarks were passed at the gangway, he asked him into the cabin. They were there about half an hour, when, going in suddenly, I saw the visitor paying over some money to the captain, they came out shortly afterwards, and the gentleman was pulled back to the shore.

“We were bound for Algiers and Morocco, and were to heave up the anchor at daylight. About 2 a.m. a boat pulled off from the ‘Golden Horn,’ and came alongside, in it was the same old gentleman who had visited us earlier in the evening. He had with him two large portmanteaux and one small handbag. The portmanteaux were handed up, but he would not part with the handbag. As soon as he was on board, orders were given to heave up the anchor, and setting all sail, we stood out of the Bosphorus, and shaped our course for the Sea of Marmora.

“When breakfast time came, the passenger told me to bring his breakfast to his room, I did so, and he never left his room or came on deck for one moment all that day. This caused a lot of talk amongst the crew. Like most small coasters, we all had our food together, and during the meals the talk was generally about the passenger and his luggage. It was suggested by the captain that the passenger had robbed a bank or something else, and that his luggage contained the proceeds of the robbery, and he added, ‘as we are helping him to escape, we ought to have a share of the plunder.’ All hands heartily agreed to this suggestion.

“We had a fresh breeze across the Sea of Marmora, and entered the Dardanelles with a moderate gale after us. The following day we cleared the Dardanelles, and with a brisk gale from the north we stood towards Tenedos Island. That morning, while we were at breakfast, the cook said he had peeped through the keyhole during the night, and had seen the Turkish passenger putting a lot of jewels into a body belt out of his small bag. From that moment he was a marked man, his fate was sealed. When off Tenedos it was blowing hard with a big sea running, and the old brig laboured heavily, the passenger came out of his room, and asked the captain to land him at Mitylene, as he felt very ill. While he was talking to the captain, the brig gave a heavy lurch, pitching him head first against the bulkhead, stunning him for a moment. As soon as he fell the captain sprang into the room, and began looking for the small handbag. Whilst he was searching for it, the passenger revived, and seeing the captain in his room, he drew his revolver and fired at him, wounding him in the leg. The captain closed with him at once, and in a moment, hearing the shot, all hands rushed into the cabin, and seeing the captain and passenger struggling together they sprang to the assistance of the captain, and drove their knives into the passenger’s body.

“It was all done in a moment, and the old man lay dead at the feet of his murderers. They looked at one another for a moment, then, after a consultation, it was decided to throw the body overboard. But before doing so, the mate sent one of the men, who had taken part in the murder, to relieve the man at the wheel, when this man came into the cabin, the mate told him to stick his knife into the body, so that all should share alike. This the man did without a moment’s hesitation. The captain turned to me, his eyes glaring fiercely and said:—‘Here, boy, come and do your part.’ I drew back and refused, but he seized me by the throat, and threatened to serve me the same as the passenger, if I did not do so. I knew too well he would put his threat into execution if I either hesitated or refused, so I took my sheath knife and drove it into the poor body, but thank God he never felt my blow.

“After the sail had been reduced and the brig made snug, the crew all gathered together in the little cabin. I was sent to the wheel. The night was pitch dark, and the vessel had no light hung out, the only one on deck was the small light on the binnacle.

“The money and valuables were then spread out on the table in the cabin, and divided amongst them. But for some reason or other they fell out over the division. The captain to quieten them brought out some bottles of spirits, but no sooner had the spirits begun to take effect than they charged the captain with taking part of the diamonds while they’ were aloft at the sails. This he denied, although at the time he had the body belt full of the diamonds and jewellery on his person, which he had taken off the dead body while they were aloft. In an instant knives were drawn and the captain was stabbed to death. Then pandemonium reigned supreme.

“The night was dark as Erebus, the brig was rushing along wildly, I could not keep her on her course. I called and called to be relieved, but no one heeded me. They were by this time all mad drunk, gloating over the spoils. The body of the dead captain still lay on the deck. The mate gave it a kick, and in doing so heard something clink. In an instant he was on his knees and found the body belt and the jewels.

“‘Share! Share!’ cried all, but half crazed with drink, the mate refused. Then the others rushed at him with their knives. He sprang on one side, and rushed on deck by the wheel. Here they closed with him and a terrible scuffle took place. In a few minutes the cook and one man got up, leaving the mate and three seamen dead on the deck. I was terrified, and could scarcely hold on to the wheel.

“There were only the two men and myself left on board. They went back into the cabin, taking no notice of me, and just as they left the deck I saw broken water on the bow. I called out to them, but before the words were out of my mouth the ship crashed on to the rocks of Cape Segre, Mitylene Island. As she struck end on, a tremendous sea came over the stern and washed me clean over the side among the rocks. I managed to swim to the back of one large rock, and found myself in smooth water, and was able to climb up out of the water. The old brig had gone to pieces, at once. I never saw a vestige of the two men or heard a single cry. I think they were killed as she struck. They had died in their sins—died drunk, with the awful crime of murder on their souls. Judgment had come swiftly. God’s vengeance had been sharp and sure.

“I lay on the lee side of the large rock where I had landed, until daylight. I had escaped without a scratch. God had taken care of me.

“At daylight I swam to the mainland of Mitylene, and made my way to the town of Gavatha on the north side of the island, and reported the loss of the vessel. I was at once put into some dry clothes and a good meal put before me, and a party was despatched to the scene of the wreck to see if any more of the crew had escaped. But there were none left to tell the tale but me. I did not mention the passenger, or what had taken place before the wreck. I was too afraid, I did not know what to do, for they might not believe my story. I felt I could never go home again, never look into my dear mother’s face again, or hear the dear old Padre’s blessing, or feel his hand upon my head. The next day I was very ill, and one of the fishermen put me to bed in his cottage and bade me sleep and rest.

“In a few days I was better, and the good folk asked me where I lived and the name of the lost vessel, and offered to keep me there until my people were communicated with. I agreed to that and thanked them heartily, but made up my mind not to go home.

“I found a vessel loading there for Liverpool, and went on board with the labourers the day before she sailed, and when an opportunity offered I stowed away in the hold. The vessel sailed next day, and a few hours after leaving port I was discovered, but the officers did not touch me, they seemed sorry for me. So I worked my way round to Liverpool, and got a ship there bound for California. The day before we sailed from Liverpool I saw a Greek sailor that I had known in Smyrna, but I hid myself and got clear away.

“For forty-five years I have roamed about the world, but from that day to this I have never heard one word from home or parents.”