CHAPTER FIVE
THE "HOLT HILL"
For some reason I changed over to the Holt Hill, sister ship to the Primrose Hill, and of the same Line. My cousin was Third Mate; I was then second voyage apprentice, and beginning to feel my feet. We were bound for Rio, and proud to sail under Captain "Jock" Sutherland, one of the greatest crackers-on out of Liverpool; in fact, he made a boast that he never allowed a ship to pass him with any of his sails furled. He certainly was a sailor to his finger tips; and it was great to see him lying that ship over in half a gale of wind, with scupper holes and wash-ports well under water, the water even swirling through the sheave-holes half way up the bulwarks; this used to thrill us boys to the bone.
He knew exactly, to the last ounce, what she would carry, and woe betide anyone who voiced a thought that sail might be shortened. To first voyagers it was pretty terrifying I'll admit, for many a time and aften it seemed as though nothing could save the ship from going over on her beam ends, or, alternatively, the masts being taken out of her.
On one occasion old Jock heard some of the crew cursing at the way he was carrying on. He just went down below, and arrived back on deck, with a camp chair and a revolver, and dared any man to even whisper about shortening sail, much less touch a halyard. He followed this up with a threat that, unless they went about their work and stopped their grousing, he would "put the helm up and sail the whole damn lot of you to hell." And, knowing the man, I wouldn't have put it past him. It was not exactly that he was altogether a daredevil in his cracking-on, it was just sheer knowledge of his ship, and confidence in what she could stand.
Beyond minor incidents that will happen to any good cracker-on, old Jock had, up to that time, run free of any serious smash up, but this voyage proved to be his undoing. The first bad break (and, as it turned out afterwards, there were to be three) was off the Western Isles, one filthy dirty night; carrying on as usual to the last ounce, under six t'gallant sails, when really she should have been under six topsails — backstays like harpstrings, and every rope straining to its limit. Suddenly a man got washed overboard from the lee braces. In response to old Jock's whip crack orders, we dropped the upper t'gallant yards with a run and let fly the lower t'gallant sheets, as he flung the ship up in the wind, nearly taking the masts out of her, but the case was utterly hopeless.
We even got a boat away, by sheer good luck, but in the pitch darkness, and in that sea, it was a wonder we didn't lose both boat and boat's crew as well.
It was no fault of old Sutherland's that the man went overboard, except that the ship had far too much canvas on her — but who would blame him for that: All sailors know the danger in shipping a lee sea. Each man must look out for himself. On the other hand, to be dubbed a cracker-on would be the ambition of every skipper worth his salt. We lost our man, but he was the first and last to lose his life, from being washed overboard whilst under Sutherland's command.
The second misfortune came about just outside Rio, off Cape Frio, at eight o'clock one morning, driving hard as usual, every stitch of canvas set. A sudden squall sent the ship heeling over, ropes and chains cracking, yard parrels groaning, till she was ripping it up like the proverbial Flying Dutchman.
Whether what happened was due to a sudden shift of wind, or to the skipper giving the order to luff, and the man at the wheel giving her too much helm, was never known — (Sutherland would never explain, nor make any attempt to justify himself) — but the fact remains without a moment's warning, we were caught back and then a moment later, the sails suddenly filled again and twisted the fore and main t'gallant masts clean out of her.
That meant both fore and main t'gallant, royal and skysail masts with all their attendant yards and gear, came crashing down on or near the desk. No one was hurt, marvellous to relate, though the main skysail yard dropped and hung within a few feet of a bunch of us boys, who, despite the fact that it was our watch below, had turned out to see the fun, and to be perfectly frank, in the hopes that something would happen.
It did, and no one had another meal, or spell for twenty-four hours. The gale, which had been brewing, and of which the squall was the fore runner, came down on us, and did its best to put us under altogether. Nothing but the superhuman efforts of Mates and crew saved the ship (as it turned out, only for a later fate). It was in emergencies like this, that one appreciated a British crowd. As a rule they are the greatest grumblers on earth, but you can always rely on them when the time comes and you are in a tight corner; which you can't on Dutchmen — the broad term applied to all Continental foreigners.
On one ship of which I was Second Mate, the Mate was a Dutchman (actually a Swede) and had a watch of his own kidney. Down round the Horn one night, with the Skipper laid up, the Mate had to "wear ship" himself, an "all hands" job. I had to take his Watch at the Main Braces, and the Third Mate take mine at the Cro'jack Braces. Wearing Ship is a ticklish job at the best of times, particularly the bracing up when she comes to. At the crucial moment, the whole Watch got a dose of sheer funk and cowered at the braces, and when I got amongst them with hands and feet, cursing them to all eternity, they simply vanished, and hid in what they considered safety.
We saved her, but only because half the British Watch broke off and did the "Dutchmen's" job at the Main, whilst the other half of the Watch carried on at the Mizzen.
Having, at last, cleared the wreckage of masts, yards, and sails, cut away the last wire back stay, saved what we could, and let the remainder go by the board, we squared away the remaining yards, and limped into Rio.
CHAPTER SIX
RIO AND REVOLUTIONS
Rio is a marvellous harbour, second only to Sydney, and at that time full of sailing ships, though many of them were swinging to an anchor without a soul on board. Cholera and smallpox were at their worst, with little facilities and less energy on the part of the natives to hold the disease in check. Deaths were averaging about two hundred a day ashore, whilst "Dead boats" continually patrolled the harbour with their gruesome cargoes collected from the various ships. Still, there was plenty of enjoyment to be got out of life, and with the usual youthful indifference, one paid little heed to the horrors around.
I cannot say the British were ever favourites in Rio, and little blame can be attached to the natives, for the ill-concealed hate with which they regarded us. "Incidents" happened pretty frequently, important and unimportant; many of them were just skylarks. One night we had been ashore on duty, and returning without the Captain we were chased by a police boat; owing to the revolution the inhabitants were indulging at the time no one was allowed on the water after sunset.
Ours was a six-oared mahogany gig, very light and very fast, and we led that police boat a dance round that harbour they were not likely to forget. All they wanted was to know which ship we belonged to, so that they could drop on the Skipper, and that was the very thing we were determined they should not find out. They tried a few shots with their revolvers, but we knew they didn't mean to hit us. The result was, they pulled and we pulled, but their crew had not got their muscles and sinews developed in the hard school of a British sailing ship. After a couple of hours they had to give it up, absolutely exhausted, and next morning yet another complaint was carefully noted — and filed — by that tactful warden of British prestige: the good old British Consul.
On another occasion a British Man-o'-Warsman had a knife stuck into him, and, as a result, died on his ship. The British Fleet out there at that time, consisted of two comparatively small ships, but what it lacked in size, the Admiral certainly made up for in grit and determination. Having ineffectually demanded the surrender of the murderer, after forty-eight hours he stood over, opposite the town, cleared for action, and landed an armed party. We boys were in at the steps, in our own ship's boats at the time, and nothing would please us but we must abandon our boats, and follow the naval party up to the town to see the fun. No resistance at all was made to the Bluejackets, who marched right up to the jail, extracted the murderer, put him on board the cruiser, and sailed out of the harbour, to return a few hours later with his remains swinging at the yard arm! Later the body was lowered, and landed at the steps, and left for the authorities to collect.