Looking Seaward Again Part 9

My first visit to Russia was at the age of thirteen. I was serving aboard a smart brig that had just come from the Guano Islands in the Indian Ocean. The captain and officers belonged to the "swell" type of seaman of that period. The former has just pa.s.sed away at the age of eighty-four. He was in his younger days a terror to those who served under him, and a despot who knew no pity. In an ordinary way he was most careful not to lower the dignity of his chief officer in the eyes of the crew, but wherever his self-interest was concerned he did not stick at trivialities. I have a vivid recollection of a very picturesque pa.s.sage of words being exchanged between him and his first mate. The officer had been commanded to go ash.o.r.e in the longboat at 5 a.m. on the morning after arrival for the labourers who were required to a.s.sist the sailors to discharge the cargo. The infuriated mate asked his commander if he took him for a "procurator"

of Russian serfs, and reminded him that his certificate of competency was a qualification for certain duties which he was willing to perform; but as this did not come within the scope of them, he would see him to blazes before he would stoop to the level of becoming the engager of a drove of Russian convicts.

"What is it coming to," said he, "that a chief mate should be requested to take charge of a boat-load of fellows who wouldn't be fit to live in our country? The boatswain is the proper man to do this kind of work, and if you cannot trust him to select the lousie rascals, then go yourself!"

These harsh words affected the captain so much that he became inarticulate with pa.s.sion; but when he had somewhat recovered, the splendour of his jerky vocabulary could be heard far beyond the precincts of the cabin. He declared that his authority had never been outraged in such a fashion before, and with the air of an autocrat ordered the mate to his berth until the morrow, when he would have to appear before the British Consul.

The officer's pride was injured, his temper was up, and he began to suitably libel everybody. Her Majesty's representative was the object of much vituperation, and a rather brilliant harangue was brought to a close by the officer stating that he would go and see the blooming Consul, and say some straight things to him. With a final flourish he called out at the top of his voice, disdainfully--

"Who the h---- is he?"

The next morning at ten o'clock the captain gave orders to row him ash.o.r.e. The mate wore a humbler appearance than on the previous day: meditation had mellowed him. He stepped into the boat beside his commander, but was told with icy dignity that the boy would take him ash.o.r.e in the cook's lurky. No greater insult could have been offered to an officer. The Consul at that time was Walter Maynard, a charming man whom I knew well years afterwards. Although I only heard odds and ends of what transpired, I feel sure the advice given was in the mate's interests, and made him see his objection from another point of view. He did not take kindly to bringing the labourers off, but he sullenly commenced from that day to do it.

Coal cargoes were at that time jumped out of the hold with four ropes bent on to one called a runner, which was rove through a coal gin fastened on to the end of a derrick composed of two studdingsail booms lashed together, and steps were rigged with studdingsail yards and oars. The arrangement had the appearance of a gate, and was fixed at an angle. Four men gave one sharp pull with the whip ropes, and then jumped from the step on to the deck. The men in the hold changed places with the whips every two hours. It was really an exciting thing to witness the whipping out of coal cargoes. It may be seen even now in some ports of the United Kingdom, but the winch has largely taken the place of this athletic process. Most captains supplied rum or vodka liberally, with a view to expediting dispatch, and did not scruple to log and fine those seamen who acquired a craving for alcohol, and misconducted themselves in consequence when they got liberty to go ash.o.r.e. n.o.body was more severe on the men who committed a breach of discipline than those who, for their own profit, had taught them to drink.

The poor, wretched Russians who were employed aboard English and other vessels were treated with a cruelty that was hideous. Before the emanc.i.p.ation of the serfs by the Emperor Alexander II. in 1861, it was not an uncommon occurrence for captains and officers and seamen to maltreat them, knock them on the head, and then pa.s.s their bodies over the side of the vessel into the Mole. One of the first things I remember hearing in a Russian port was a savage mate swearing at some labourers and threatening to throw them overboard. It is no exaggeration to say that almost every day dead bodies came to the surface and were taken to the "Bran" Wharf or to the mortuary, with never a word of inquiry as to how they came by their end, though it was well known that there had been foul play. It is true they were awful thieves, very dirty, very lazy, and very provoking, and it was because the officers were unable to get redress that they took the law into their own hands. It is incredible that such a condition of things was allowed to exist.

A stock phrase even to this day of predatory Russians is, "Knet crawlim, tackem"--_i.e._, "I have not stolen, I have only taken." They have a p.r.o.nounced conviction that there is a difference between stealing and taking. Tradition has it that a humorous seaman ages ago conveyed this form of distinction to them, and it has stuck to them ever since. Another peculiarity of the race is that they wear the same large grey coat in the summer as they do in the winter; they are taught to believe that what keeps out cold keeps out heat. When they take drink they never stop until they are dead drunk, then they lie anywhere about the streets and quays. The police, who are not much better, use them very cruelly. During the Russo-Turkish war hundreds of the common soldiers, who are similar to the common labourer, were found lying on the battle-field, presumably dead, when it was found they were only dead drunk. I was told by a doctor, who went right through the campaign, that it was customary to fill the "soldads," as they are called, previous to a battle, with vodka. The lower order of Russians must be hardy, or they could never stand the extremes of cold and heat, and the terrible food they have to eat. They are not long-lived. I cannot recall ever having seen a very old Russian labourer.

The emanc.i.p.ation of the serfs was a great grievance to the old seamen, who looked back to the days when they could with impunity chastise or finish a serf without a feeling of reproach. After the emanc.i.p.ation it became a terror to have them aboard ship. Many a mate has been heavily fined and locked up in a pestilential cell for merely shoving a fellow who was caught in the act of stealing, or found skulking, or deliberately refusing to work properly. Labourers, in fact, became a herd of blackmailers, and were encouraged in it by some agency or other, who shared the plunder. One old captain, with an expression of sadness on his face, told me, on my first visit to Cronstadt since I was a boy, that everything had changed for the worse.

"At one time," said he, "you never got up of a morning without seeing a few dead Russians floating about. You could chuck them overboard if you liked, and n.o.body interfered. Many a time I've put one over the side. But now you dare not whisper, much less touch them."

The general opinion amongst English seamen, from the master downwards, was that a great injustice had been done to us by the Decree of Liberation.

On one occasion I lay alongside a Yankee ship which was loading flax.

Work had ceased for breakfast. I saw the chief officer on the p.o.o.p, said "Good morning" to him, and asked him how the loading was going on.

"Well," said he, "it goes not so bad, but we've had an accident this morning which stopped us for nearly an hour. There were three or four bales of flax slung in the hatchway; the slings slipped, and the bales fell right on a dozen Russians."

"That is very serious," I said. "Did it kill them?"

"No," drawled he, with a slow smile; "it didn't exactly kill them, but I guess it has flattened them out some."

The "Bran" Wharf was then a large pontoon, with dwelling accommodation for Custom-house officers and harbour officials. It was moored just at the entrance to the dock or mole, and was in charge of an official who regulated the berthing of vessels. This man was originally a boatswain aboard a Russian warship. He was illiterate, but very clever, so much so that great power was put into his hands; indeed, he became quite as powerful in his way as his Imperial Majesty himself. Every conceivable complaint and petty dispute was taken to him, and it was soon found that it could be settled in a way that did not involve a fine or imprisonment. In fact, there were occasions when a favourite English captain or mate asked this official's aid in getting the Russians to work properly. He would, if agreeably disposed, come aboard, spit, stamp, and swear at the men in a most picturesque way, and if he had had a gla.s.s or two of grog, or wanted one, and the captain or mate made a very bad report, he would lash the skulkers with a piece of rope. When he was finished there was no more need for complaint. This notorious person was called Tom the Boatswain. He drew very fine distinctions as to whom he favoured with his countenance and his chastening rod. For obvious reasons, he loathed a Swede and a Norwegian. In truth, he told me himself that Englishmen were "dobra"

(good), and that Norwegians and Swedes were "knet dobra." He spoke a peculiar kind of English, with a fascinating accent, and when he went his rounds in the early morning, rowed by two uniformed sailors, studied respect was paid to him. His invitations to breakfast, or to have a gla.s.s of brandy (which he preferred to whisky), indicated the esteem, fear, or amount of favours inspired by him. He in turn endeavoured to pay a hurried visit to each of his guests, ostensibly to see that their vessels were properly berthed, and the men working properly, but really to test the generosity of the captains, who seldom let him go without a "douceur," which was sometimes satisfactory. He was accustomed, when asked to have refreshment, to request that his two men should have a nip also. One morning he visited a favourite captain who had arranged with his mate to act liberally towards the men. His stay in the cabin was prolonged, and when he came on deck and called for the boat, his devoted henchmen did not come forth. He looked over the quarter-deck, and was thrown into frenzy by seeing them both lying speechless, their bodies in the bottom, and their legs sticking up on the seats of the boat. He got into her, kicked the two occupants freely without producing from them any appreciable symptoms of life, and then finally rowed himself back to the "Bran" Wharf. The two culprits were compulsory teetotalers after that.

Their master went on acc.u.mulating roubles, which, under Russian law, Tom could not invest in his own name, and perhaps he had personal reasons for secrecy. He did not allow the amount of his wealth to be known to gentlemen who might have relieved him of the anxiety of watching over it. But, alas! there came a period of great trial to Tom. That portion of the "Bran" Wharf where the roubles were concealed took fire. The occupants had to fly for their lives, and soon the whole fabric was burnt to the water's edge. Another pontoon was erected in its place, and Tom put in command; but before he had time to replace the fortune he had lost, he was superseded by a naval officer, and his roubles were taken from him. I believe his dismissal was brought about by one of the countrymen to whom he had such a strong aversion making a complaint to the Governor about his partiality to Englishmen. Great sympathy was secretly extended to poor Tom by his English friends, but the loss of his position and his wealth broke his heart, and he only survived the blow for a few weeks.

In addition to controlling the berthing of vessels, and keeping the harbour free from confusion, it was Tom's duty to see that no fires or lights were allowed either by day or night, and, as these rigid rules were frequently broken, his "hush money" very largely contributed to his already affluent income. Nor did his removal affect the acquisitiveness of his successor, who loyally followed in his footsteps. As soon as a sailing-vessel arrived in the Roads, the galley fire had to be put out before she was allowed to come into the Mole. All cooking was done ash.o.r.e at a cookhouse that was loathsomely dirty. A heavy charge was made for the use of the place, and also for the hire of the cook's lurky, a flat-bottomed kind of boat constructed of rough planks. These boats were invariably so leaky that on the pa.s.sage to and from the sh.o.r.e they became half-foil of water, and the food was frequently spoiled in consequence. But, even if all went right, the crews often had to partake of badly cooked, cold rations.

Many a meal was lost altogether, and once or twice a poor cook who could not swim was drowned by the boat filling and capsizing. The frail craft of this kind were of curious shape, and only a person who had the knack could row them. No more comical sport could be witnessed than the lurky race which was held every season. Many of the cooks never acquired the art of rowing straight, and whenever they put a spurt on the lurky would run amuck in consequence of being flat-bottomed and having no keel. Then the carnival of collisions, capsizing of boats, and rescuing of their occupants began. Some disdained a.s.sistance, and heroically tried to right their erratic "dug-outs." It would be impossible to draw a true picture of these screamingly funny incidents, but be it remembered they were all sailor-cooks who took part in the sport, and the riotous joy they derived therefrom was always a pleasant memory, and kept them for days in good temper for carrying out the pilgrimage to and from the cookhouse.

The popular English idea is that there are only two cla.s.ses in Russia--viz., the upper and lower; but this is quite a mistake. There has always been a thrifty shopkeeping and artisan cla.s.s, which may be called their middle lower cla.s.s. Then there is a cla.s.s that comes between them and the common labourer. Nearly all the shopkeepers that carry on business at Cronstadt, Riga, and other Northern Russian ports during the summer have their real homes in Moscow, and mostly all speak a little English. There are also the boatmen, who are a well-behaved, well-dressed lot of men, whose homes are in Archangel.

They, as well as the tradesmen, come every spring, and leave when the port closes in the autumn. In the sailing-ship days each of the greengrocers--as they were called, though they sold all kinds of stores besides--had their connection. Every afternoon, between four and six, batches of captains were to be found seated in a greengrocer's shop having a gla.s.s of tea with a piece of lemon in it.

It was then they spun their yarns in detail about their pa.s.sages, their owners, their mates, their crews, and their loading and discharging. If their vessels were unchartered they discussed that too, but whenever they got authority from their owners to charter on the best possible terms they became reticent and sly with each other.

To exchange views as to the rate that should be accepted would have been regarded as a decided token of business incapacity. Supposing two captains had their vessels unchartered, each would give instructions to be called early in the morning, that they might go in the first boat to St. Petersburg, and neither would know what the other intended. When they met aboard the pa.s.senger boat they would lie to each other grotesquely about what was taking them to town. If they were unsuccessful in fixing, they rarely disclosed what had been offered; and this would go on for days, until they had to fix; then they would draw closer to each other, and relate in the most minute fashion the history of all the negotiations, and how cleverly they had gained this or that advantage over the charterers; whereas, in truth, their agents or brokers had great trouble in getting some of them to understand the precise nature of the business that was being negotiated. The following is an instance.

Mr. James Young, of South Shields, whose many vessels were distinguished by having a frying-pan at the foretopgallant or royal mast-head, had a brig at Cronstadt which had been waiting unloaded for some days. Her master was one of the old illiterate cla.s.s. His peace of mind was much disturbed at Mr. Young's indifference. At last he got a telegram asking him to wire the best freights offering. He proceeded to St. Petersburg, bounced into Mr. Charles Maynard's office, and introduced himself as Mark Gaze, one of Jimmy Young's skippers.

"Well," said Mr. Maynard, in his polite way, "and what can I do for you, Captain Gaze?"

"Dee for me, sorr? Wire the aad villain that she's been lyin' a week discharged."

"Yes," said the broker, writing down something very different. "And what else?"

"Tell him," said Mark, "te fetch the aad keel back te the Gut, and let hor lie and rot wheor he can see hor!"

"Very good," said Maynard, still waiting; "and what else?"

"Whaat else? Oh, tell him to gan to h----, and say Mark Gaze says see.

Ask him whaat the blazes he means be runnin' the risk of gettin' hor frozzen in. Say aa'll seun be at Shields owerland, if he dizzen't mind whaat he's aboot."

"Well, now," said the agent, "I think we have got to the bottom of things. We'll send this telegram off; but before it goes, would you like me to read it to you?"

"For G.o.d's sake send the d---- thing away!" said Mark. "And tell him te come and tyek the aad beast hyem hissel; or, if he likes, aa'll run hor on te Hogland for him."

"Well, you do seem to understand your owner and speak plainly to him.

I should think he knows he has got an excellent master who looks after his interest."

"Interest! What diz he knaa aboot interest? He knaas mair aboot the West Docks. Understand him, d'ye say? If aa divvent, thor's neebody in his employ diz. Aa've been forty-five years wiv him and his fethor tegithor. Aa sarved me time wiv him. He dorsent say a word, or aa'd tell him to take his ship to h---- wiv him."

"That is really capital," said the much amused agent. "Now, what do you say, captain, if we have some light refreshment and a cigar?"

"Ay, that's what aa caal business. But aa nivvor tyek leet refreshment. Ma drink is brandy or whisky neat," said Captain Gaze, his face beaming with good-nature.

They proceeded to a restaurant, and when they got nicely settled down with their drinks and smokes, the skipper remarked--

"Aa wonder what Jimmie waad say if he could see Mark Gaze sittin' in a hotel hevvin' his whisky and smokin' a cigar?"

"I should think," said Mr. Maynard, "he would raise your wages, or give you command of a larger ship." And then there was hearty laughter.

Captain Gaze had a profound dislike to Russians, and more than once narrowly escaped severe punishment for showing it. I have often heard him swearing frightfully at the men pa.s.sing deals from the lighters into the bow ports of his vessel, and declaring that G.o.d Almighty must have had little on hand when he put them on earth. Certainly he would have considered it an act of gross injustice if, having killed or drowned any of them, he had been punished for it.

Mark did not know anything about history that was written in books. He only knew that which had occurred in his own time, and the crude bits he had heard talked of amongst his own cla.s.s. He, and those who were his shipmates and contemporaries during the Russian War, believed that a great act of cowardice and bad treatment had been committed in not allowing Charlie Napier to blow the forts down and take possession of Cronstadt.[2] They knew nothing of the circ.u.mstances that led to the withdrawal of the fleet, but their inherent belief was that a dirty trick had been served on Charlie, and Russians, irrespective of cla.s.s, were told whenever an opportunity occurred, that they should never neglect to thank Heaven that the British Government was so generous as to refrain from blowing them into s.p.a.ce.

At Cronstadt, after the introduction of steam, it became a custom for stevedores' runners, and representatives and vendors of other commodities, to have their boats outside the Mole at three and four o'clock in the morning during the summer. The captain of each vessel, as soon as she was slowed down or anch.o.r.ed, was canva.s.sed vigorously by each of the compet.i.tors. One morning, the representative of Deal Yard No. 6, who was an ex-English captain, came into sharp conflict with a Russian compet.i.tor. The latter rudely interrupted the ex-captain while he was complimenting a friend who had just arrived on having made a smart pa.s.sage. All captains like to be told they have made a smart pa.s.sage, but the ardent advocate of Deal Yard No. 6 kept welcoming his friend at great length, obviously to prevent the other runners from getting a word at the new arrival. There arose a revolt against him, headed by a person who was always supposed to be a Russian, but who spoke English more correctly than his English compet.i.tor. The ex-captain was somewhat corpulent. He was short, and had a plump, good-natured face which suggested that he was not a bigoted teetotaler; he had a suit of clothes on that did not convey the idea of a West-end tailor; his dialect was broad Yorkshire, and his conversational capacity interminable. The representative of No. 10 Deal Yard undertook to stop his flow of rhetoric by calling out, "Stop it, old baggy breeches! Give other people a chance!" But he paid no heed, and did not even break the thread of his talk until the captain of the steamer began to walk towards the companion-way, when he stopped short and said, "Well, I suppose I'm to book you for No.

6?" and then there was a clamour. The whole of the runners wished to get their word in before the captain definitely promised, but they were too late. No. 6 had got it; but instead of accepting his success modestly, he was so elated at having taken away an order from another yard, that he stood up in his boat and congratulated himself on being an Englishman.

"No use you fellows coming off here when I'm awake; and, you bet, I'm always awake when there's any Muscovite backstairs gentlemen about."

As the boats were being rowed into the Mole again, some one asked who had got the ship. The Russian compet.i.tor, who was angry at the work being taken from his master, called out, "Bags has got her, the drunken old sneak!"

Bags lost no time in letting fly an oar at him, the yoke and rudder quickly following. His vengeance was let loose, and he poured forth a stream of quarter-deck language at the top of his voice. His phrases were dazzling in ingenuity, and amid much laughter and applause he urged his hearers to keep at a distance from the fellow who had dared to insult an English shipmaster.

"Or you will get some pa.s.sengers that will keep you busy.

They--_he_--calls them _peoches_, but we English call them _lice_!"

This sally caused immense amus.e.m.e.nt, not so much for what was said as for his dramatic style of saying it. His antagonist retorted that he had been turned out of England for bad language and bad behaviour, and he would have him turned out of Russia also. This nearly choked the old mariner with rage. He roared out--