With a fair wind and a light ship we sailed out of Rio harbour bound for Calcutta — or so we thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SMALLPOX
It was almost a dead beat in the teeth of the Trades, so we reached away to forty odd degrees south, where we hoped to pick up the prevailing westerly wind, and stretch away for the Cape. We had to send down the mizzen skysailyard and unbend the mizzen royal staysail, as it gave her far too much canvas aft with only stump t'gallant masts forward; in fact, with the mizzen royal, and the wind anywhere abaft the beam, it took two hands at the wheel to keep her from broaching-to at the best of times. Whereas ordinarily with a ship of her class you could steer with one hand and a few spokes of the wheel. And, take it from me, to have in your hands the eight foot wheel (diameter, not circumference) and a twenty-five hundred ton ship, and she with a bone in her teeth, is a thing never to be forgotten. You can "feel" her just as closely as you can a horse with the most delicate mouth, and to be a helmsman worthy of the name, you must know what she is going to do before she does it. She lifts to this sea, straghtens herself up, and goes down to the next, with the unmistakable motion that tells you she is going to run up in the wind on the following sea. If you don't get the helm against her before she does it, up she comes with all the upper sails shaking in the wind and the Mate howling out to know, "Where the hell are you going to, you soldier?"
Although we had left Rio, we were not to forget it in a hurry.
We had been out about a fortnight, when some of the crew commenced to go down with some sort of sickness. The first chap we said was loafing, until he died. That's always the verdict on a sailing ship, anyway. A man is invariably "mouching" until he dies, and then we say, "Oh, he must have been bad after all." It was smallpox.
Old Sails was the first to go under, and even then, I don't think we were by any means sure what we were up against. No medicine, and no doctor, of course; in fact, the last medicine on board, which consisted of half a cup of castor oil, was drunk by one of the patients in mistake for water. As there was nothing to check it, we just had to rely upon our cast iron constitutions and stick it out. I seemed to be immune both from smallpox and yellow fever. I once had a chap die in my arms of Yellow Jack, and I used to wear a fur coat belonging to one of our smallpox convalescents. He used to wear it during the day, and I borrowed at night! I'll admit I wasn't popular with the watch whilst I did wear it.
Twice I read the burial service, or such parts as I could find, in a gale of wind when the Mate couldn't leave the poop. Sometimes we couldn't get the body over the rail, — then it was beastly.
We reached away down into high latitudes in the hopes of freezing it out. This was a mixed advantage, as on one hand we had to shorten down, and keep her shortened down, for the simple reason that if we did crowd the canvas on, we had not the hands to take it in, if it came on to blow. This left us battling around under six topsails instead of stretching out for the Cape under full sail.
After several memorable weeks of struggle under appalling conditions, we at last got our anchor down in Capetown Quarantine ground. Made up our losses and left again. I think everyone was glad to see the last of us, as the reason for our being there had somehow leaked out ashore, although, by that time we had lived down the scourge.
From time immemorial sailing ships have what is termed "Run their Easting Down." That is, after rounding or leaving the Cape, they ran on a parallel of latitude, and sometimes worked south, keeping down till they reach St. Paul's or thereabouts. The prevailing winds are westerly and strong, and St. Paul's serves to check chronometers for longitude, and the run north to the East Indies. We had left Rio in ballast, and mighty little of that, and therefore were in no case for cracking-on, but that made no difference to old Jock Sutherland.
We were nearing St. Paul's when, in the afternoon, a big fourmaster barque hove in sight on our port quarter, overtaking us, under six t'gallant sails, whilst we were flying along under six topsails, but the other ship was loaded and we were light, and in no shape, with our stump t'gallant masts, to try to get away from her. The wind was well aft, which made it worse for us, owing to our makeshift rig. But all that didn't matter a bean to Jock.
"He'd never had a ship pass him with any of his sails furled, and he was not going to start now."
"Set everything!"
We set everything, and before dark ran her right out of sight. And small wonder, for when we hove the log at eight bells (eight o'clock) that night, we were reeling off thirteen and a half knots. Two hands at the wheel and then all they could do to hold her on her course and prevent her broaching to; the mizzen royal, and the mizzen royal staysail doing their utmost to force her up in the wind. One thing, being in ballast, she was dry, though why on earth she didn't turn right over, heaven and old Jock alone knew — and he said nothing. As a matter of fact, the Mate and he were walking up and down the poop, each waiting for the other to make the first suggestion for shortening down, and neither would. Both good chums; both crackers-on, and you've got the situation!
At last eight bells came, and the relief of the watches. We all heard the Mate, Mr. Williams, say, "Keep a good look-out for land ahead and of the lee bow. Relieve the wheel, and look out. That will do the watch," and my watch went below. The Second Mate, taking over, said to the Mate, "Just as soon as you get below I'm for having some of these sails in."
"Just as you like," the Mate replied, "and the sooner the better."
It was blowing a gale, and he knew quite well the risk we were running in that sea, which by this time was like a house side, and the ship nearly unmanageable.
As I turned in I heard the Second Mate go forward along the fore and aft bridge which links up the poop to the half deck, midship house and fo'c'sle, so that anyone could get fore and aft without touching the main deck. On the fo'c'sle head he found the lookout man coiling down the flying jib downhaul, a new rope, just rove off the day before, and which eventually saved our lives.
We should have seen the land before, only for a heavy squall of rain that passed ahead, just at eight bells. The Second Mate, looking up, with the squall clearing, suddenly saw the loom of the land right ahead, and the ship rushing for it at racehorse speed.
One of our chaps had just got up to blow out the light in the half deck, when we heard Mowatt come thumping along the bridge roaring out: "Hard down. All hands on deck. Let go royal and t'gallant halyards."
CHAPTER EIGHT
WRECKED ON ST. PAUL'S
Poor old Mowatt! He'd got the shock of his life, and in his excitement had given the wrong order; though he wasn't to know that. His idea was to bring her up in the wind, and either reach clear of the land, or go about and stand off on the other tack. He had not seen, up till then, that there was four miles of land to windward, (the way he was turning the ship," but only two to leeward.
Old Jock, with his experience, when he got on deck a moment later, took all this in, and countermanded Mowatt's order with:
"Hard up. Square away the Cro'jack yard."
The wind had been two points on the port quarter, therefore Jock also saw she would, if brought up to the wind and being in ballast, just sag to leeward and take the rocks broadside. Then nobody would have had a ghost of a chance. (Not that anyone would have give a brass farthing for our chances, as it was.) Jock saw that by putting the helm up he could clear the two miles to leeward, if — and it was a big if — he could get her round in time.