Windjammers and Sea TrampsRunciman, Walter Runciman, Baron
History
Windjammers and Sea Tramps
Runciman, Walter Runciman, Baron
Seafaring life
access, it was he who had to scull the captain ashore, and
wait for him in the cold, still, small hours in the morning,
until the pleasures of grog and the relating of personal
experiences had been exhausted. If the boy were asleep when
the skipper came down, he got a knock on the head, and was
entertained to a selection of oaths which poured forth until
he got alongside the vessel. He was then told with strong
manifestations of dignity to pass the painter aft; this
done, he was rope-ended for having slept.
If the vessel were anchored in a roadstead, and the captain
had to be rowed ashore, he had to be one of the crew of
four, he pulling the bow oar, and, as soon as the rest
landed, he was left in charge of the boat. The sequel to an
incident of this kind is one of the most gruesome in the
annals of maritime life. The captain of a vessel, anchored
in Elsinore Roads, was rowed into the harbour. The crew of
the boat were told that he would require them at 10.30 that
night. The cabin-boy was left in charge, and the two A.B.'s
and the oldest apprentice proceeded to a grog-shop, where
they became more or less intoxicated. The captain had
ordered a keg of gin to the boat, and at midnight he ordered
the men to go off to the vessel with it, and come for him in
the morning. They did not wish to go, as there was a strong
south wind and current in the sound, but the captain
insisted, and they went, with the result that the boat was
picked up the following day covered with ice, and four dead
bodies were the ghastly occupants of it.
Well nigh two years had passed away since our young friend
planted his feet for the first time aboard ship. He had
sailed far and learned much. The treatment he had been
accustomed to made strong impressions on him; and he
determined to emancipate himself from such tyranny the first
opportunity he had; so that, when his vessel glided into a
lovely landlocked harbour on the north-west coast of Ireland
one bleak winter morning, his plan of escape having been
secretly formed and kept, he determined to put it into force
as soon as it was discreet to do so.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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