The Brassbounder Part 21

XXIV

FALMOUTH FOR ORDERS

High dawn broke on a scene of storm, on the waters of Falmouth Bay, white-lashed and curling, on great ragged storm-clouds racing feather-edged over the downs and wooded slopes that environ the fairest harbour of all England.

To us, so long habited to the lone outlook of sea and sky, the scene held much of interest, and, from the first grey break of morning, our eyes went a-roving over the windy prospect, seeing incident and novelty at every turn. In the great Bay, many ships lay anch.o.r.ed, head to wind, at straining cables. Laden ships with trim spars and rigging, red-rusty of hull, and lifting at every scend to the rough sea, the foul green underbody of long voyaging; tall clippers, clean and freshly painted without, but showing, in disorder of gear and rigging, the mark of the hastily equipped outward bound coasters, steam and sail, plunging and fretting at short anchor or riding to the swell in sheltered creeks; lumbermen, with high deck loads bleached and whitened by wind and salt-spume of a winter pa.s.sage; drifters and pilot cruisers, sea trawlers, banksmen--a gathering of many craft that the great west wind had turned to seek a shelter.

Riding with the fleet, we lay to double anchor. Overhead the high wind whistled eerily through spar and cordage--a furious blast that now and then caught up a crest of the broken harbour sea and flung the icy spray among us. Frequent squalls came down--rude bursts of wind and driving sleet that set the face of the harbour white-streaked under the lash, and shut out the near land in a shroud of wind-blown spindrift.

To seaward, in the clearings, we could see the hurtling outer seas, turned from the sou'-west, shattering in a high column of broken water at the base of St. Anthony's firm headland. We were well out of that, with good Cornish land our bulwark.

Ahead of us lay Falmouth town, dim and misty under the stormy sky. A 'sailor-town,' indeed, for the grey stone houses, cl.u.s.tered in irregular ma.s.ses, extended far along the water front--on the beach, almost, as though the townsfolk held only to business with tide and tide-load, and had set their houses at high-water mark for greater convenience. In spite of the high wind and rough sea, a fleet of sh.o.r.e boats were setting out toward the anchorage. Needs a master wind, in truth, to keep the Falmouth quay-punts at their moorings when homeward-bound ships lie anch.o.r.ed in the Roads, whose lean, ragged sailormen have money to spend!

Under close-reefed rags of straining canvas, they came at us, lurching heavily in the broken seaway, and casting the spray mast-high from their threshing bows. To most of them our barque was the sailing mark.

Shooting up in the wind's eye with a great rattle of blocks and _slatt_ of wet canvas, they laid us aboard. There followed a scene of spirited action. A confusion of wildly swaying masts and jarring broadsides--shouts and curses, protest and insult; fending, pushing, sails and rigging entangled in our out-gear. Struggling to a foothold, where any offered on our rusty topsides, the boatmen clambered aboard, and the Captain was quickly surrounded by a clamorous crowd, extending cards and testimonials, and loudly praying for the high honour of 'sarving' the homeward bound.

"Capten! I sarved 'ee when 'ee wos mate o' th' _Orion_! Do 'ee mind Pengelly--Jan Pengelly, Capten!"--"Boots, Capten? Damme, if them a'nt boots o' my makin', 'ee 're a-wearin' nah!"--"... can dew 'ee cheaper 'n any man on th' Strand, Capten!"--"Trevethick's th' man, Capten!

Fort--(_th' 'ell 'ee shovin' at?_)--Forty year in Falmouth, Capten!"

Old Jock was not to be hurried in his bestowal of custom. From one he took a proffered cigar; from another a box of matches. Lighting up, he seated himself on the skylight settee.

"Aye, aye! Man, but ye're the grand talkers," he said.

The crowd renewed their clamour, making bids and offers one against the other.

"Come down t' th' cabin, one of ye," said the Old Man, leading the way.

A purposeful West-countryman, brushing the crowd aside, followed close at heel. The others stood around, discussing the prospect of business.

"Scotch barque, a'n't she?" said one. "Not much to be made o' them Scotch Captens! Eh, Pengelly, 'ee knows? Wot about th' Capten o' th'

_Newtonend_, wot 'ee sarved last autumn?"

The man addressed looked angrily away, the others laughed: a sore point!

"Paid 'ee wi' tawps'l sheets, didn't 'e?" said another. "A fair wind, an' him bound West! _Tchutt_! 'ee must 'a bin sleepin' sound when th'

wind come away, Pengelly, m' son!"

Pengelly swore softly.

"Don't 'ee mind un, Jan, m' boy?" added a third. "Mebbe th' Capten 'll send 'ee 'Spanish notes' when 'e arrives out--Santa Rosalia, worn't it?"

A bustle at the companionway put a stop to the chaff, the purposeful man having come on deck, glum of countenance.

"You'm struck a right 'hard case,' boys," he said. "Twenty per cent ain't in it--an' I'm off. So long!"

One by one the tradesmen had their interview, and returned to deck to talk together, with a half laugh, of Scotch 'Jews' and hard bargains.

Hard bargains being better than no business, the contracts were taken up, the crowd dispersed, and we were soon in a position to order our longsh.o.r.e togs and table luxuries--at prices that suggested that someone was warming his boots at our fire.

With Jan Pengelly we bargained for foodstuffs. It was something of a task to get comfortably aboard his 'b.u.mboat,' heaving and tossing as she was in the short sea. In the little cabin, securely battened and tarpaulined against the drenching sprays that swept over the boat, he kept his stock--a stock of everything that a homeward-bounder could possibly require; but his silk scarves and velvet slippers, silver-mounted pipes and sweet tobacco hats, held no attraction for us: it was food we sought--something to satisfy the hunger of five months'

voyaging on scant rations--and at that we kept Jan busy, handing out and taking a careful tally of our purchases.

On deck there was little work for us to do. Little could be done, for, as the day wore on to a stormy setting, wind and sea increased, forcing even the hardy boatmen to cast off and run to a sheltered creek at St.

Mawes. The icy, biting spray, scattered at every plunge of our ground-fast barque, left no corner of the deck unsearched, and, after a half-hearted attempt to keep us going, the Mate was forced to order 'stand by.' In half-deck and fo'cas'le we gathered round the red-hot bogies, and talked happily of the voyage's end, of the pay-table, of resolves to stop there when we had come ash.o.r.e.

Then came the night, at anchor-watch. Tramping for a brief hour, two together, sounding, to mark that she did not drive a-lee; listening to the crash of seas, the harping of the rigging, to the _thrap, thrap_ of wind-jarred halliards; struggling to the rigging at times, to put alight an ill-burning riding lamp; watching the town lights glimmer awhile, then vanish as quick succeeding squalls of snow enwrapped the Bay. A brief spell of duty, not ill-pa.s.sed, that made the warmth of the half-deck and the red glow of the bogie fire more grateful to return to.

As day broke the gale was at its height. Out of a bleak and threatening west the wind blew ominously true--a whole gale, accompanied by a heavy fall of snow. There could be no boat communication with the sh.o.r.e in such a wind, but, as soon as the light allowed, we engaged the Signal Station with a string of flags, and learnt that our orders had not yet come to hand, that they would be communicated by signal, if received during the day.

After we had re-stowed sails and secured such gear and tackle as had blown adrift in the night, 'stand by' was again the order, reluctantly given, and all hands took advantage of the rare circ.u.mstance of spare time and a free pump to set our clothes cleanly and in order.

Near noon the Mate spied fluttering wisps of colour rising on the signal yard ash.o.r.e. Steadying himself in a sheltered corner, he read the hoist: W.Q.H.L.--our number.

"Aft here, you boys, an' hand flags," he shouted. Never was order more willingly obeyed; we wanted to know.

The news went round that our orders had come. With bared arms, dripping of soapsuds, the hands came aft, uncalled, and the Mate was too busy with telescope and signal-book to notice (and rebuke) the general muster of expectant mariners.

As our pennant was run up, the hoist ash.o.r.e was hauled down, to be replaced by a new. The Mate read out the flags, singly and distinct, and turned to the pages of the signal-book.

"'You--are--ordered--to--proceed--to'--Answering pennant up, lively now; damme, I can't rest you boys a minute, but ye run to seed an'

sodgerin'!"

A moment of suspense; to proceed to--where? The Old Man was on deck now, with code-book in hand, open at the 'geographicals.'

"'B--D--S--T,'" sang out the Mate. "B.D.S.T.," repeated the Old Man, whetting a thumb and turning the pages rapidly. "B.D.S.T., B.D.S--Sligo! Sligo, where's that, anyway?"

"North of Ireland, sir," said M'Kellar. "Somewhere east of Broadhaven.

I wa.s.s in there once, mysel'."

"Of course, of course! Sligo, eh? Well, well! I never heard of a square-rigger discharging there--must see about th' charts. Ask them to repeat, Mister, and make sure."

Our query brought the same flags to the yard. B.D.S.T.--Sligo, without a doubt--followed by a message, "Letters will be sent off as soon as weather moderates."

There was a general sense of disappointment when our destination was known; Ireland had never even been suggested as a possible finish to our voyage. Another injustice!

As the afternoon wore on, the wind lessened and hauled into the north.

The bleak storm-clouds softened in outline, and broke apart to show us promise of better weather in glimpses of clear blue behind. Quickly, as it had got up, the harbour sea fell away. The white curling crests no longer uprose, to be caught up and scattered afar in blinding spindrift. Wind, their fickle master, had proved them false, and now sought, in blowing from a new airt, to quell the tumult he had bidden rise.

With a prospect of letters--of word from home--we kept an eager look-out for sh.o.r.e-craft putting out, and when our messenger arrived after a long beat, the boat warp was curled into his hand and the side ladder rattled to his feet before he had time to hail the deck. With him came a coasting pilot seeking employ, a voluble Welshman, who did not leave us a minute in ignorance of the fact that "he knew th' coast, indeed, a.s.s well a.s.s he knew Car--narvon!"

Then to our letters. How we read and re-read, and turned them back and forward, scanning even the post-mark for further news!

Early astir, we had the lee anchor at the bows before dawn broke. A bright, clear frosty morning, a cloudless sky of deepest blue, the land around wrapped in a mantle of snow--a scene of tranquillity in sea and sky, in marked contrast to the bitter weather of the day before. At the anchorage all was haste and stirring action. A gentle breeze from the north was blowing--a 'soldier's' wind that set fair to east and west, and the wind-bound ships were hurrying to get their anchors and be off, to make the most of it. A swift pilot cutter, sailing tack and tack through the anchorage, was serving pilots on the outward bound, and as each was boarded in turn, the merry _clank-clank_ of windla.s.s pawls broke out, and the chorus of an anchor chantey woke the echoes of the Bay. Quay punts pa.s.sed to and fro from ship to sh.o.r.e, lurching, deep-laden with stores, or sailing light to reap the harvest that the west wind had blown them. Among them came Jan Pengelly (anxious that payment 'by tops'l sheets' did not again occur with him), and the Welsh coasting pilot who was to sail with us.

The weather anchor was strong bedded and loth to come home, and it was as the last of the fleet that we hoisted our number and ran out between Pendennis and the Head. The Old Man was in high good humour that he had no towing bills to settle, and walked the p.o.o.p, rubbing his hands and whistling a doleful encouragement to the chill north wind.

Safely past the dread Manacles, the Falmouth pilot left us. We crowded sail on her, steering free, and dark found us in open channel, leaning to a steady breeze, and the Lizard lights dipping in the wake astern.